The Boy
by TokyoSuite
Summary: Akihiko finds a box on his doorstep one morning.
1. Box

**Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou Romantica.**

A package had arrived at Akihiko's doorstep one morning.

The silver-haired author had his curiosity piqued. After all, it wasn't every day that a cardboard box almost the same size as him had managed to make its way on his doorstep. Though he was a famous author, his fan mail went to Marukawa's address, and Aikawa had made it her mission to drop off all of it once every few weeks (sans the holidays, where the flux of chocolates and flowers soared). He also rarely kept in contact with his family, and, well, he hadn't really been expecting anything from his father or his brother.

Reaching down, he managed to drag the item into his spacious flat. Within a few moments, there was the shuffling of plastic, and the opening of a cardboard box. Bubble wrap was pushed aside to reveal one single item packaged in the center.

The item was curled up in the center, with its arms bent protectively over its head. Smooth, pale skin covered the body. From its curled toes, to the shallow dip of the waist that revealed a lithe, tight torso, to its flawless face with moistened pink lips, it was naked in its entirety. A mop of dark chestnut hair covered the head.

For a few moments, Akihiko stood there, stunned.

He knew not what to make of the contents in the package that was freshly delivered this morning. His eyebrows furrowed, confused, when he spotted a piece of paper near the edge of the box.

He picked it up, and scanned the contents.

_Sensei!_

_I met with one of my colleagues the other day, and I was talking about your newest series, you know, how you wanted to take the science fiction route. He told me that he actually had something that I might be interested in! And guess what, because Jin (my colleague) is a researcher of robotics, he gets to handle on the newest prototypes! He agreed to let me borrow one for a thirty-day trial. I thought it would be great inspiration for your book._

_And hopefully push you to meet your deadlines! Sensei, hurry up!_

_Aikawa_

Akihiko could only chuckle, smiling dryly at his editor's enthusiasm. He turned back to the package, specifically, at the "thing" that was inside of it. Crouching, the author stared, still somewhat mystified.

Well, for one thing, it didn't look like a robot. In fact, if he hadn't read Aikawa's letter, he would have been positive that the rising and falling of that chest belonged to a human. Another thing was though, he wasn't exactly sure whether it was a boy or a girl, as its facial features were very pretty to look at. However, from where he was, it seemed that it indeed was male…

Upon closer inspection, Akihiko confirmed his suspicions. He blinked, his purple eyes still roving the boy's body, when all of a sudden, the body stirred, eyelashes fluttered, and after a quiet exhale, the boy's eyes opened.

Akihiko could only stare at the unusual shade of the boy's eyes. They were a startling, vivid green.

For a few seconds, the two stared at one another. After a prolonged moment, the author cleared his throat. But right as he opened his mouth, the boy spoke.

"Hello. I am Misaki Takahashi. Are you my new owner?"

It took a while for Akihiko to respond, for he was still staring at those delicate pink lips at which the boy used to speak, and still marveling at his innocent voice, which sounded so sweetly in his ears. He grimaced a little at the wording, but eventually said, "I suppose you could say that."

Akihiko looked away uncomfortably, as those green eyes continued to stare at him earnestly. "Um… I have some clean clothes upstairs. Hold on." The silver-haired man ambled towards the staircase.

As soon as he reached the top of the staircase, Akihiko opened his cell phone. He never knew the day would come when it was _him_ who would be the first to call his editor. It was always the other way around, with him having to dodge the annoying phone calls from his editor and him having to unplug those torturous devices as he failed to meet another deadline. Yet here he was.

Sighing, he waited patiently at the dial tone. Suddenly, the familiar, chirpy tone (Aikawa had two tones: one was the cheerful, friendly, tone she used for during the beginning of the draft; the second was the furious, agonized, frustrated tone she used near the end. Now was only the beginning of the cycle though). "Hello?"

"Aikawa, what are you doing?" The author said. Though the tone was bored, there was a certain tone of annoyance, as well as an understated layer of perplexity.

The editor immediately understood. "Ah, Sensei! You have to take care of him. The Senpai that I met told me that Misaki, despite being a robot, functions like any regular human! So remember to feed him three times a day, and let him use the bathroom as well. Wait, you did get him already, right?"

The author pinched his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Aikawa," he said bluntly, "When have I ever asked for a robot? How will he help? It will just be a distraction, a nuisance, one more mouth to feed…"

"Ah, but that's the point, Sensei! In your newest novel, the protagonist finds a robot girl, and takes her in, right? The conditions are essentially the same! You'll feel the emotions, you'll get your muse! Huh? Oh, Chiemi, just place those folders away. Anyways, Sensei, I have to go now. Good luck with Misaki!"

There was the sound of loud voices in the background. Akihiko could hear the words "deadline" and "couldn't make it". Then, the phone was dead.

Akihiko sighed, before continuing to his bedroom and opening his closet. Despite his haggard appearance, the bedroom was surprisingly clean. There were also an enormous number of stuffed animals lying around everywhere. In fact, if one counted, there were exactly thirty-two bears in the room.

Akihiko opened the closet and frowned. With the boy's small frame, even his smallest clothes wouldn't be able to fit him (Besides, they were almost all tuxedos and suits; even in the house the author wore formal clothes). Plus, there was the question of undergarments…

The author felt the sudden urge to bang his head against the hall. He glanced towards the hallway when he heard doorbell rang. Eyes furrowing, he began to walk down the stairs.

Then he heard a gargled scream. Eyes widening, Akihiko sprinted downstairs, to find a most unusual sight.

Before him were two men, one naked, and one fully clothed. The mailman was staring at the naked boy in front of him, then alarmingly staring _down there, _then staring back up at the boy's face. Misaki, however, only looked concerned. "Are you alright?" he asked, looking confused.

In long strides, the author quickly stepped in front of the naked boy, accepting the package from the stumbling mailman. "Here you go," Akihiko said coolly, giving his signature with a flourish before closing the door.

Akihiko turned to the boy. "Next time, don't open the door unless you're fully clothed," he spoke. The boy had a faint blush on his cheeks, and nodded. Then, the boy motioned towards the box.

Akihiko looked down, skimming through the sticker that was attached to the side. "Ah, clothes," the author spoke, unwrapping the second box. Indeed, as he had opened the box, he found layers of shirts and pants, and even underwear folded neatly inside a cardboard box. He picked up a random pair of clothes and thrust it into the naked boy's hand. "Here, put these on. The shower is upstairs, the second door on the left."

Emerald eyes blinked twice. "Shower?" the boy repeated.

Akihiko nodded. "Once you're finished, put your old clothes in the room next to it. I will be in the study if you need anything." The silver haired man stood up, staring down at the cardboard mess he had made in the living room. Shaking his head, the author made a note to clean it up later.

In long strides, the author had walked up the stairs and disappeared into his office, his amethyst eyes betraying the smallest hint of emotion. Once inside, he had sat down on his chair, his hands clasped together on his desk. He closed his eyes for a moment.

Although Aikawa had had some crazy ideas before, this was absolutely insane. To bring in a human robot…a male human robot, at that…to his precious sanctuary in which previously he had only inhabited was completely absurd.

He was some one who loved solitude, after all. He hated social gatherings of all sorts, and openly ditched his own award parties. He disliked travelling to the actual publishing agency itself, where people always seemed to be arguing over something. Instead, he preferred being alone. Then again, this boy was a machine. Just like a toaster or a dishwasher, Akihiko rationed. Except that the boy looked uncannily human, and incredibly attractive…unconsciously, Akihiko licked his lips, remembering that ravishing body he had uncovered. The boy, with pale flawless skin, looked utterly delectable.

Akihiko's rational perspective had kicked back once more. No, he had to think of what to do with this boy. He frowned, a crease appearing on his forehead. Was he going to keep him? Akihiko paused for a moment. After a moment of careful deliberation, he had reached his conclusion.

The silver-haired author sighed, rubbing his fingers. It was really going to be a long day. He got up from his desk and wandered down to his kitchen, fixing himself up a nice cup of black coffee. He pondered.

Originally, Akihiko's flat was incredibly spacious, with many rooms both upstairs and downstairs. However, over the years the author had filled his room with toys and knick-knacks, objects redolent of his childhood. Thus, every room in his suite, save for his office and his bedroom, was virtually inhabitable.

Akihiko sighed. No, this was no good. He walked upstairs once more, sipping his coffee as he went.

He supposed he could put away some of his stuff and clear a room for the boy. Speaking of which, Akihiko glanced worriedly at the bathroom door. The boy had been gone for quite a while now, without a single peep.

Cautiously, Akihiko neared the door, pausing as he stood outside. Oddly enough, the room appeared to be strangely silent. Reaching forward, he gave the door a brief rap.

There was a brief silence, and then the boy's clear voice was heard, albeit somewhat muffled. "Come in!"

Akihiko turned open the door.

And was completely unprepared for the sight that greeted him.

**So yep, there you go! My first Junjou Romantica fan fiction. The secret is out of the box (you see what I did there...har har), Misaki is a robot that is owned by Usagi.**

**Please comment and review!**


	2. Shower

**Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou Romantica.**

The boy was sitting inside an empty tub, with empty shampoo and conditioner bottles lying all around him. At the moment, he was sniffing one particular bottle, his eyes clothed, his face contorted in pure joy.

If the author had not been so shocked, the situation actually would have been quite comical. But as for the moment, the author was only speechless.

"W-what are you doing?" the author spoke in a half-strangled voice.

"Sniffing! All these smells are so nice!"

Upon further observation, Akihiko groaned. Not only had most of the shampoo bottles been opened, some of the contents were now dripping down the tiled shower wall.

Green eyes flashed at him earnestly. "'Showers' are so amazing! Do you do this every day?" The boy accentuated his thoughts by taking another long whiff of another bottle, closing his eyes and humming contentedly as he did so.

But wait. If the boy didn't know what an actual shower meant then…then how much knowledge was preprogrammed in him anyways?

Akihiko swiftly covered the bathroom and crouched down to stare at the boy. His amethyst eyes stared into intensely into the boy's green ones, which, after several moments, looked shyly down.

"Misaki, do you know what a "shower" is?" The author's voice was patient, as though he were speaking to a child.

Misaki stared at the author. "Shower…it's not sniffing?"

Akihiko shook his head. Upon realizing that the boy honestly had no idea who a "shower" really was, the author stood up, reached forward and yanked the shower nozzle from its hook. With a swift twist of his hand, he turned the water on. The angled shower nozzle shot a cold stream of water on the boy.

"Ahhhhhhhh!" The boy protectively curled himself into a ball on the onslaught of the cold spray, his original mop of chestnut brown hair now nearly black. Green eyes stared up indignantly from under wet hair. "Why did you do that?"

Akihiko was amused. "You don't know?"

He reached forward and turned off the spray off, before grabbing the bottle the boy held in his hands. He squeezed a generous amount on his palm before turning to the boy. "_This_ is a shower."

And with that thought, his hands had reached forward and begun lathering the boy's hair.

Upon initial shock at having been touched, the boy soon fell quiet. Within a few moments, green eyes slowly fluttered closed. Without warning, a low, guttural sound escaped the boy's lips. The sound rumbled pleasurably from the boy's pale throat, and echoed across tiled walls. Submerged in the sensations he felt, the boy was completely unaware of how he affected the author.

Said author was frozen mid-lather, his knuckles suddenly tight. He felt himself stirring. Akihiko realized that he really did need an Aspirin.

Akihiko reached forth and grabbed the showerhead once more. "Don't open your eyes," he warned. There was a small nod of assent. Within moments, the cold spray cleansed the brown hair and soapy suds soon disappeared from the boy's locks.

"Open that bottle around you."

"This one?"

The dirty thoughts that had plagued his mind earlier were immediately whisked away. Those green eyes were so wide and _innocent_. They held in them, a certain childlike quality, a certain naiveté.

"Yes. Lather up your body, as I did your hair." The author stood up. "When you're finished, take this lever, and turn to the left. Water will come out, and then you can rinse off. When you're finished, clean up those bottles." As he turned to leave, Akihiko heard the boy's voice. "Yes, master."

Akihiko paused mid-step, then walked through the door. He truly needed an aspirin.

Turning back to his study, the author grabbed his laptop and made his way downstairs. As much as Akihiko was confused and somewhat frustrated by the turn of events, he had also unknowingly struck upon inspiration.

The author was busily typing away when the phone suddenly rang. Akihiko groaned. His important revelation had immediately slipped through the gaps of his mind, and now he stood up with resignation. The person on the other end was definitely going to feel his wrath.

"Hello?" Akihiko was slightly irritated.

"Oh, Usagi-san! How are you, my dear friend?"

At his voice, Akihiko visibly relaxed. While it was true that Takahiro was a blathering idiot, the author had seldom met a friend who treated everyone so kindly. Takahiro's kindhearted and gullible nature contrasted deeply with his own cynical personality. Perhaps it was this refreshing contrast that first drew him to Takahiro.

"Fine." To any bystander, Akihiko's curt response could seem cold. However, the gruffness of the author's voice masked his true underlying feelings.

Takahiro, ever so oblivious, continued on his ramblings. "Ah, I was hoping that you were available tomorrow evening?"

He would do anything for him. "Of course, Takahiro."

"Oh, thank you so much! I was getting a bit worried, because Manami's birthday is next week. I didn't know what to get her…."

Akihiko's expression immediately darkened as he processed this information. Akihiko had known, for the longest time, that his best friend was straight. In fact, he had anticipated that Takahiro would find a nice girl, and get settled down and married for a few years. He didn't realize, however, how soon Takahiro slip away from his grasp. He would be alone soon. His heart clenched at the thought.

"….and I was thinking, jewelry maybe? But now that I think about it, Manami seldom wears jewelry. Well, aside from the occasional necklace or so, but that doesn't really count, does it? Then I thought…"

"Takahiro," Akihiko cut in smoothly. "Perhaps we should discuss this tomorrow night."

There was a brief pause and a bright affirmation. "Of course, of course! Actually I'm really glad you agreed Akihiko, as I know you have very good taste."

The author heard some background noise. There was the pitter-patter of feet. Akihiko could detect snippets of a female's voice.

"Manami's here," Takahiro whispered urgently on the phone. "I have to go! I'll see you tomorrow, eh?"

"Yes."

But the line was already dead. Akihiko stared at the phone in his hands, before numbly placing it back on its receiver.

**Sorry if this chapter's a little short!**

**So, as you guys may have noticed, Usagi is still in love with Takahiro. I wanted to match this story to the original's timeline wise, so this would probably be around Misaki's early tutoring days.**

**Also, you might have realized that Usagi still hasn't called Misaki by his name yet, but don't worry, he will soon! **


	3. Sweetness

**Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou Romantica. **

"Um…I did everything already."

Akihiko glanced up. The boy was now dressed, and was looking somewhat hesitantly at him at the bottom of the staircase. Akihiko made a note to thank Aikawa later, for the clothes fit Misaki perfectly.

"Good. Are you hungry?"

The boy paused.

The author looked surprised. "You don't know what "hungry" means?"

A look of annoyance flickered across the boy's face. "I _know_ what "hungry" means. I just…I was deciding whether or not I actually was."

Akihiko took in the boy's strange response. The author then walked across the room, his long elegant fingers opening a cupboard box. Upon finding a red bag, he opened it and took out a metal container. Aikawa had sent these in last week – they were Belgian cookies she had picked up in one of the bakeries she often frequented. Although Akihiko never was a fan of sweet things, and told his editor this information countless of times, Aikawa had always responded with a cryptic, "You never know, Sensei. You never know when you'll need a little sweetness in your life."

Akihiko opened the box, which featured twelve golden brown discs, each with an almond lodged in the center. He gingerly plucked one from its spot nestled in it's casing. "Come here," he said.

The boy slowly walked forward. He stopped near the author, eyeing the cookie a little distrustfully.

Akihiko couldn't help but find the boy's expression to be quite adorable. "Open your mouth."

The boy, after a brief pause, complied. At this, the author stuffed the almond cookie into the boy's mouth, watching as the boy coughed slightly to accommodate the dry parcel of food.

"Chew."

Akihiko watched, slightly entranced as the boy's lips engulfed the cookie, mouth moving slowly. A pale pink tongue swiped the corners of the boy's lips, but somehow a few cookie crumbs still remained near the edge of soft skin.

Akihiko reached forward and touched the boy's mouth.

All chewing motions ceased.

Akihiko was suddenly aware of the proximity between him and the boy. He could smell a faint scent of vanilla emanating from the boy's flawless skin. The boy's chestnut brown hair looked incredibly rich and silky after the shower, so _touchable_.

With one finger, Akihiko languidly traced the outline of soft pink lips, watching as light brown particles disappeared. Akihiko stepped back to witness a faint blush come across the boy's cheeks.

"Did that satisfy you?" Akihiko asked, smirking.

"H-huh?" The faint blush had bloomed into a most beautiful, dark red rose. "E-erm…" The boy was stuttering, his green eyes staring on the floor.

"The cookie, of course." Akihiko felt his lip twitch. He felt as though he would laugh soon. His outside demeanor, though, conveyed utmost seriousness.

Upon hearing Akihiko's words, the boy looked somewhat relieved. Emerald eyes stared earnestly into amethyst ones. "Yes, it was delicious! Can I…have another one?"

Akihiko glanced at the living room clock. It was almost noon. "Just one more," he said, heading over towards the phone. "I'm going to order us some take-out." The author sauntered out of the kitchen and quickly made arrangements with a familiar high-end restaurant to deliver a midday course. Right before hanging up, he surprised himself by quickly speaking.

"Wait, do you have a signature dessert?"

"Yes, sir. We have many, but most notably is our tiramisu ladyfingers."

"No, actually, I would like something sweeter. Do you have chocolate cake?"

"Um…yes, sir." The delivery manager, who had worked in the restaurant for over a decade, had taken the author's orders countless of times before. He understood the author's food preferences (especially his dislike of green peppers, he had learned that through one unfortunate experience), and rarely had the author requested dessert after a meal. When he had, it had mostly always been something somewhat bitter. "Sir, we have chocolate pudding, as well."

"Give me one slice of chocolate cake," the author declared, "and please, make it sweet."

The author hung up, and turned around, looking for that familiar mop of brown hair. His amethyst eyes widened upon taking in the kitchen.

Every single cupboard and every drawer had been opened, it's contents turned upside down. Pots and pans were lying on top of the counter, ordered by size and height. The fork and spoon drawer had been jostled, the chopsticks had disappeared, the pepper and salt appeared to look helplessly at Akihiko, as if silently begging the author to save them from the hyper kid that had manhandled them.

"What are you doing?"

"These instruments! They are so many! What does this one do?" The boy held up a spatula, turning it over in his hands.

"It's…it flips over…food…" The author found himself rather tongue-tied, for once.

"What about this one? The spirals of the metal are a bit intimidating, but it looks really cool!"

"That's a whisk."

"What about this one! It appears to be somewhat sharp…"

Akihiko didn't know what had come over him. Perhaps it had been the sheer ridiculousness of an innocent boy traipsing around his kitchen, or perhaps it had been the fact that he had only gotten a few hours of sleep for the past few days (an editing cycle had ended a week ago, but he had turned in his manuscript late), but the author had clutched the countertop helplessly, his normally cool façade breaking. He gasped. He didn't realize he could laugh this hard.

In fact, he couldn't remember the last moment he ever truly laughed. Yes, he had laughed countless of times before. In his award parties, he had put on the gentlemanly smile and had indulged fawning women with a polite chuckle here and there. He saved his dry grins for Aikawa, an occasional teasing snicker for his best friend Hiroki. Then, there was the sad smile he would give for Takahiro, and the bitter snort he would leave for himself when he retired at the end of the day, a lonely man who had failed at love.

But his laughter now was so unrestrained, so _pure_, the cynical man actually would have doubted the laughter belonged to him, if it hadn't been the shocked expression of the boy standing in front of him.

"You…you laughed."

Akihiko quieted, his facial expression now pensive. "So I did."

And then, just at that, the boy broke into a beautiful, gentle smile.

Right then, Akihiko felt an overwhelming tide of emotions wash over his heart. But in the kaleidoscope of moving feelings, Akihiko could most clearly pick out one that made his heart leap.

Happiness.

**Okay, so first thing's first. ****I realize that Misaki might seem a bit OOC here, because he seems so incredibly docile and gentle here as compared to the manga. But I want to remind you all that Misaki has no prior experience with feelings and emotions, and everything seems so incredibly foreign to him. So at first, he will react to things around him a bit strangely, but as time goes by he will grow to be more and more human. ****You guys will probably see more of the original Misaki in later chapters. **

**Secondly, I just want you guys to all know why I started writing this story (I suppose I should have explained in Ch. 1, but oh well, I can do it here). I'm actually not a very good science fiction writer, but the whole human-robot deal intrigues me. Can robots have feelings? And if, in some possible futuristic scenario, we design robots to be so human-like, is it okay for them to love a human? Would the love between a human and a robot be unfair, because robots can't actually have feelings? These are just a few questions that I pondered over, and still have no answer to. But all of you are welcome to leave your thoughts on the whole robot-human dilemma. **

**greenapple23 - Wow, thank you so much! I feel so flattered that I wrote your dream fic, I actually had no idea other people thought about a robot-Misaki and human-Akihiko pair! But yes, I'll try to showcase more of Misaki's delectableness (suggestive wink). **

**FreshPrinceLover - Thank you! It's a pleasure to know that you enjoyed my writing so much, I hope you continue to read the upcoming installments!**

**Don't Preach - I enjoyed reading everything that you wrote in your review. I honestly didn't even realize my writing style was that unique, so thank you for that compliment. The way you talked about my characterizations also brought a smile on my face. Oh yes, this will definitely be M later on (giggles evilly at the unsuspecting Misaki), but for now, I'm just content to let the story plot go along. **

**Ah, and I must admit I've actually been a huge fan of your fics for awhile now, even though I have never commented on any (guilty of being a silent reader). Keep writing, Don't Preach!**

**So yeah, that's about it. Leave your thoughts and reviews!**


	4. Kiss

**Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou Romantica.**

Akihiko calmly took up his chopsticks.

An assortment of different dishes lay in front of him. They were all crafted to his liking. Akihiko had always grown up to be a rather picky eater. It wasn't necessarily because he was spoiled…okay; maybe it _was_ due to the fact that Tanaka had given in to whatever outrageous food demands he had when he was younger. In any case, the author had grown used to eating fine cuisine ever since he was a child.

He glanced across the table at another pair of chopsticks – this pair was quivering in a slender hand, poised indecisively over a few dishes.

"Wah! These dishes look so good!"

Akihiko smiled. "Then eat up."

After a moment's decision, the boy decided to choose a piece of raw fish. With quiet determination, the boy plopped the almost transparent white flesh in his mouth. Green eyes immediately widened, and chopsticks gestured wildly at the plate it had hovered over a second earlier.

Akihiko watched, amused. "That's sashimi. Do you like it?"

The boy nodded eagerly. Akihiko reached forward, picked up a piece of sweet-and-sour pork, and dropped it in the boy's rice bowl, before leaning back to watch the boy hungrily devour the meat.

After a few moments, everything on the table had been tried. Every single taste, every flavor seemed new for the boy, whose eyes flashed with awe and wonder. The way the boy savored each piece of food was so childlike that the author couldn't help but stare, enchanted by the scene that unfolded in front of him.

After both had finished eating, Akihiko cleared his throat. He gestured to the pink box near the center of the table. "This is for you. Once you're finished eating, you are free to explore this apartment. Is there anything you need?"

The boy shook his head.

Akihiko stood up. "Call me when it's almost six, we'll eat dinner then."

Although the silver-haired author felt a small amount of guilt for leaving the boy so suddenly, he honestly felt quite exhausted after staying up late to meet his deadlines. Thus, when he entered his bedroom, he hadn't bothered to take off his clothes. He simply sank into his sheets, and within moments, felt sleep wash over him.

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Soft, soft blankets. They were so warm, so comforting. He didn't want to leave this paradise, he wished he could lie within the sheets forever. Yet, as he grew more and more awake, he couldn't help but recall the events that occurred in the morning.

The delivery. The boy.

Slowly, gradually, a lavender eye opened, still clouded with a sleepy fog. A few seconds later, the second eye opened. Both eyes, after growing accustomed to the darkness, tried to make sense of the clock across the room, whose numbers appeared vertically from where he lay.

Sighing, Akihiko realized he overslept. Why hadn't the boy woken him? But while he was mildly perplexed, in truth the author was somewhat glad the boy hadn't. Akihiko couldn't remember the last time he slumbered so peacefully.

Quietly, Akihiko stretched, feeling a low rumble go through his lips as he did so. He opened his bedroom door and walked downstairs. Upon reaching the base of the steps, he let out a quiet intake of breath.

There were a multitude of things that could have surprised the author. The first could have been the fact that the scattered cardboard material in the living room had mysteriously disappeared. In its place remained a spotless span of bare hardwood floor.

Or it could have been the fact that the lunch leftovers on the dining room table were nowhere to be seen. Instead, there were a few pieces of chinaware lying simply on the table. From where he was, Akihiko could also tell that the stack of dirty dishes that had accumulated over this week was also gone.

But neither observation held as much significance as the picture right in front of his eyes.

On the sofa lay a softly snoring, blanketed bundle. A few locks of dark brown hair peeked from underneath the covers, forming a dark halo around the boy's head. Suzuki-san sat next to the sleeping bundle, on guard.

A teddy bear guarding a little boy.

Akihiko chuckled a little at the absurdity, before quietly sitting down on the adjacent couch. He stared at the sleeping boy, his eyes softening. He sighed, relaxing against soft leather. The quiet sound of the boy's breathing was like a lullaby to his ears, and he found himself staring off into the distance, in his own thoughts.

He remembered something Aikawa told him earlier that morning.

Akihiko turned his lavender eyes towards the sleeping boy. "Misaki," he whispered aloud, to himself. Yes, that was his name. Misaki.

Akihiko froze. The boy that lay next to him had begun to stir. Eyelashes fluttered. The boy's breathing hitched, and after a few seconds, emerald orbs drowsily opened. After a moment of silence, Akihiko spoke. "I see why you didn't wake me up."

Green eyes widened and the boy sat up. A look of guilt passed across the boy's face. "Ah, I'm sorry! I actually was going to wake you up, but you looked so…" the boy lingered, pausing to find the exact words, "…so different."

"Different?"

The boy furrowed his eyebrows. "Yes. You had a completely different expression than from before, when you were talking to a strange instrument."

"Strange instrument," Akihiko repeated. He stiffened, as realization dawned on him.

The boy continued solemnly. "On it you seemed like you were smiling, but in actuality, you looked like you wanted to cry. But when you were asleep, although you weren't smiling, it seemed as though you were having good dreams. So, I didn't want to disturb you." The boy looked towards the ground as he said this, a little embarrassed.

Akihiko's eyes had widened upon hearing the boy's statement. He was at a loss of what to say. The boy was simply too honest for his own good. By gazing into those deep green eyes, Akihiko felt as though he was being stripped bare. He suddenly felt so vulnerable, so exposed, so weak.

Meanwhile, the boy had slipped from the blankets and padded softly to the kitchen. Within a few minutes he had returned, holding a plate of cookies. Carefully, the boy offered one to the silver-haired man. "Do you want one? It will make you feel better."

Akihiko stared at the kindness reflected in those green eyes. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around the boy and drew him close.

The plate of cookies clattered to the floor, as the boy froze, startled.

"For just a few minutes," the author murmured into the boy's neck. "Let me stay." The author suddenly felt so exhausted, so tired. He closed his eyes against the onslaught of emotions that threatened to consume him.

Misaki, after sitting perfectly still, hesitantly reached forth and placed his arms across the man's back. He closed his eyes, listening to the man's deep and broken breathing, and felt himself slowly overwhelmed by an unknown feeling. It he were to equate the feeling with a color, he would have thought of the color blue - a faded, worn and weary blue, one that had been washed out too many times by the rain.

He struggled to control himself. Akihiko knew that if he didn't stop this now, he'd go overboard - he would lose all control. And yet, he couldn't stop. When he pulled back from the boy's arms, Akihiko leaned in and kissed him.

**#%&#%(#$#%!**

**I don't know why but this chapter took especially long to write, because it appeared so easily in my head. I literally had to rewrite several parts of this chapter multiple times, because I kept thinking a sentence sounded wrong, or that a character didn't really behave a certain way. **

**I think the culprit could be the fact that I initially wanted to write everything from Akihiko's perspective, however, it is very difficult to describe Misaki's emotions from another character's eye. ****Also, this chapter was so varied in its emotions, from fluff to angst, and I think I was having trouble connecting everything. The last part of this chapter was hard, because I often paused while I was writing and thought "Oh god, is this too corny?"**

**And then, there's the whole name thing. Okay, so while I was writing I kept using "the boy" in place of "Misaki", but after reading through my rough draft, I realize it sort of sounds ridiculous after awhile. But really, what other nouns could I use (besides "he", that is). Maybe I should have changed to "Misaki" sooner, but it really got me thinking...how does is the English language have only word for a word that means young man? I guess you could say "student" or "doctor" or something like that to be specific, but I mean, there's not many general words, right? **

**AMSwafford92 - Hee. I'm glad you enjoyed. :)**

**Don't Preach - Ah, why do you give such marvelous reviews? I always enjoy them, and everything you have to say. The scene with the cookie crumbs was decidedly naughty, wasn't it? ****To directly quote you, "I got a bit of a bad priest vibe giving his innocent altar boy communion". Buahahahahahahahaha! You have no idea how that made me laugh. **

**darkhuntressxir - Thank you. Yes, the relationship is pretty complicated and will probably grow more complicated in the future. **

**Thank you for all who commented! Others, feel free to leave me your thoughts. **


	5. Complications

**Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou Romantica.**

For a few moments, Misaki sat there, frozen.

He never would have known that the man had such soft lips, lips that were surprisingly tender against his own. From a physical standpoint, the silver-haired man was all angles – from sharp cheekbones and a prominent nose, to a planed torso and a sculpted back. He could feel the strength of the man's arms, which were currently holding on to his waist like a vice, hard and unyielding.

But then, he observed, the man also had soft features. The man's long eyelashes, the same silvery aura as his hair, looked so delicately beautiful on the man's pale skin. The man's body, pressed closed to his, felt so warm, almost comforting.

He listened.

The man's heartbeat, which had sped up earlier when he had been agitated, now returned to a deep, slow rhythm.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

He felt as though he could listen the soothing rhythm forever.

He breathed.

The scent of the man had cloaked him, like a misty, dark fog. It was musky and smoky, and slightly spicy. Yet the scent of something refreshingly crisp and cool cut through, leaving behind a dispersion of combating flavors.

He closed his eyes.

A warm swipe of tongue had caused his eyes to flash back open. There was another swipe of a moistened tongue. The man was persistent, commanding entrance.

Closing his eyes once more, Misaki had given it.

Shuddering slightly at the intrusion, the boy had felt the author slowly explore his mouth, the deft appendage leaving no corner untouched. Soon, he had felt his own tongue being swept along the ride, and he began reciprocating the author's lingual ministrations. Tongues met and clashed, and rolled in a heated mess. The boy slowly tasted the author, and realized, after several turns, that the man had a faint smoky flavor.

He was panting a little. He desperately needed to breathe, but he didn't want to surface just yet. He wanted to indulge in the man's flavor a little longer, he wanted to feel the man's rough tongue on his. Misaki felt a low growl rise in his throat – he hadn't realized how pleasurable this particular action would be, and wanted more.

But suddenly the man had withdrawn his tongue. The warmth of his lips had also disappeared, leaving the boy wanting.

He opened his eyes, blinking confusedly.

It was odd, but it seemed as though the man looked unhappy. When his eyes met the man's gaze, Misaki almost stopped breathing. The pure intensity that lay trapped in those familiar amethyst pools was unnerving. They were tormented and struggling to convey something, and yet burned simultaneously with danger.

When the man spoke, his voice sounded strained.

"Misaki, go to sleep."

He didn't understand. He couldn't understand. Moments ago, the man had attacked his lips with such fervor; the man's tongue had explored his with such passion. He had felt the man's heartbeat speed up slowly, until it was pounding in his ears.

The author had stood up, his back facing the boy.

Without thinking, the boy had stood up and reached forward to grasp the man's hand, pulling with all his might. While normally someone of his height and strength would have been unaffected, the factor of the unexpected had been the author's ultimate demise. Surprised, the silver-haired man had fell back on the sofa.

Right as the author turned to stare in silent confusion, Misaki leaned forward and and smashed their mouths together.

He waited patiently for the author to respond, lingering on the fullness of the author's lower lip. Indeed, his patience was rewarded, for the mouth that had been closed was soon responding quite nicely. Once more, Misaki relished in the taste of the man's mouth, and the unique flavor that he was presented with.

Misaki let out a whimper as the man retreated from his mouth. However, his whimper was quickly muffled by a moan, as he felt the man begin to attack the curve of his neck. The man's lips traced along his pale skin, and Misaki couldn't help but let out an involuntary shiver.

He felt himself being pushed down. His head met something soft, and as he looked up, he couldn't help but widen his eyes a little.

The silver-haired man loomed over him, his violet eyes raging with hunger. The author reminded him of some predatory animal, about to devour his prey. At that thought, the boy turned his face to the side, a faint blush forming.

A few seconds passed.

"Oh God, what am I doing?" It was a cracked whisper, from a few feet away.

He turned his head back, to see that the silver-haired man was now sitting on the floor, his head held in his hands. Unconsciously, he reached forward to touch the man.

But as soon as his fingers graced the man's shoulder, the man recoiled.

Misaki couldn't understand why, but he suddenly felt as though the man had hurt him physically. But that thought didn't make sense, and so he chose to ignore those thoughts. Instead, he chose to ask the question that had been on the tip of his tongue ever since the man pulled away.

"Why did you stop?"

When the silver-haired man turned to him, and Misaki had flinched.

Within those amethyst eyes was one emotion, and it showed it clearly.

Anger.

Without reply, the man stood up, stalked up the stairs. Several seconds later, Misaki heard an upstairs door being slammed.

The silence that was left suddenly felt oppressive and heavy. For a few moments, the boy simply stared at the staircase, feeling empty and hollow. The longer the boy stared, the blurrier everything seemed to be. As Misaki pulled the blanket over his curled up position, he realized why everything seemed so blurry.

He was crying.

Taking a deep breath, the boy closed his eyes, trying to block out the world. He realized that crying was indeed an exhaustive action, for when he laid his head on the pillow, he felt a dragging feeling run through his body. With one last sigh, he found himself drifting into a world of blackness.

**Whew, that was one emotional chapter. **

**Haha, everyone has been commenting on how I update pretty fast - this is because I really enjoy writing the story so far (and also, because, as of right now, I have some time on my hands).**

**Also, I want to thank everyone who has commented so far on my story, I love reading everything you guys have to say. That's all!**

**-TokyoSuite **


	6. Number

**Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou Romantica.**

Misaki had woken up to the sound of yelling. Slowly sitting up, he took in the scene in front of him.

A red-haired woman, around the age of thirty, looked immensely irritated at the man standing before her. She stood with her hands on a ruffled blouse. "You're being absolutely ridiculous, Sensei!"

The silver-haired author calmly took a sip of his morning coffee.

"It's just one board meeting! It won't take more than five minutes and you won't have to do anything for the rest of the month!"

A monosyllabic reply carried coolly across the room. "No."

The red-haired woman now looked desperate. "Sensei! Please, if not for yourself, think of all the fans that enjoy reading your novels. Won't you make them happy?"

The author looked calmly into the distance. "If they were honestly happy with just my novels, they wouldn't need my autographs."

"Sensei!" The woman sounded exasperated. "Why must you be so diffi...oh.".

Misaki stared sheepishly at the red-haired woman, who, having just noticed the wakened boy, stared at him with a mixture of surprise and delight. Across the room, the author also turned to look at him, but after making eye contact, had quickly looked away.

Upon approaching the couch, the woman squealed. "You are the most adorable thing I have ever seen!" She extended out her hand, flashing the boy a blinding smile. "I'm Aikawa, that idiot-over-there's editor."

The boy nodded shyly. "Yes. I remember your voice from yesterday."

Akihiko looked up, surprised. "You know Misaki?"

"Yes," the editor said, huffing. "You would have known yesterday, if you had bothered to answer your damn phone! But then," she turned and clapped her hands, "I would have never had the chance to talk to Misaki!"

Swiftly, her countenance changed, though, as she turned on the author accusingly. "I heard you left the place in a complete mess when you took your afternoon map. How dare you leave things around as though there's someone who will always look after you! How dare you make the poor boy-"

"I don't mind," the boy interjected softly.

The woman paused in her diatribe. "Eh?"

The boy looked meditative. "When I'm in the kitchen, I don't know why, but I feel calm." After a small pause, the boy continued. "Thank you for teaching me how to give plates a shower."

At this, the author choked on his drink.

Although the boy's wording seemed a little strange, Aikawa smiled at the boy's compliment. "Oh! That reminds me!" The editor had walked towards her purse, drawing forth a bag of sweets. She handed them towards the boy, her eyes somewhat mischievous. "Here, Misaki, take this. They're white chocolate squares from a well-known local chocolatier. They're very sweet, but then Usami-san has told me that you like sweet things."

The boy's eyes widened at the offering, flashing a look of gratitude towards the woman's kindness. Thank you," the boy breathed, holding up the bag reverently. He had learned, just yesterday, how truly delicious the dark confection really was. Remembering the soft and velvety texture of the dessert that the author had given him many hours ago, Misaki closed his eyes and tried to picture whether or not these sweet pieces would taste similar.

"Aikawa." It was a statement. The author had placed down his cup of coffee, and was now standing near the doorway. "Can we please talk outside for awhile?"

Aikawa turned. Something about the writer's tone seemed a bit off. She briefly turned back to Misaki and smiled. "Misaki, I have to go. Please enjoy those sweets, I'll buy some more for you next time, alright?"

The boy nodded.

The editor turned around and followed the author outside. In the next second, the door swung closed and the only thing that remained was an empty, spacious flat.

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Upon exiting the suite, Akihiko abruptly turned to his editor.

"Aikawa, I can't do this anymore. Take the boy back." The author's tone was resigned.

Aikawa peered back at the apartment door. "Usami-sensei, I don't understand. Misaki is absolutely adorable. He's so eager to learn and please. Besides, he's so remarkably human, just like a normal boy!"

The author looked frustrated. "That's exactly the point! Misaki isn't human!"

The editor blinked. It slowly dawned on her, of what the author was trying to communicate. "Please, Sensei."

The author's voice grew desperate. "He's not a human, so why is he acting like one? It makes no sense. How can he have real emotions? He's just a machine! A program! He was designed to have certain reactions – it's all predetermined, no, nothing is real."

The author slowly took a breath to calm down. Aikawa bit her lip, her eyes watering a little. "Yes, while that's true, don't you believe that it's possible for Misaki to develop true emotions over time? Perhaps it's possible that he would grow to like you."

"No." The author shook his head adamantly. "No, that's not possible. He couldn't do that."

For several moments, the two stared at each other in silence. Akihiko had shakily reached into his left pocket and drawn a cigarette. Upon lighting it, the author had inhaled, closing his eyes as he did so.

Suddenly, the editor's eyes brightened. Her hands reached for her bag, looking for a certain card that she was sure she kept. After finding it, she stepped forward. "Sensei, here. I don't know much about Misaki, but I know someone who does." She slid the card into the author's hands.

"If you recall from my note, he's one of my colleagues, Jin. He helped plan and designed Misaki, and experiments with new prototypes on a daily basis. He's very knowledgeable and experienced with this sort of thing. If you decide to call him, tell him that you know me. I'm sure you'll be able to book an appointment." Aikawa glanced up, to see that Akihiko was staring absentmindedly into space.

"Sensei!"

The author turned to stare at his editor, who was looking at him with concern. The author sighed. "Yes, Aikawa?"

"Before you decide to do anything, think about this. In thirty days, Misaki will be gone. In that amount of time, you can concentrate on writing your novel. Once you've finished, you can think of putting this chapter of your life behind you."

Aikawa straightened, casting one more glance at the apartment. She sighed. "I'll have to go make some silly excuse to the managing department for your absence. Sensei, you'd better have your next installment on time, or else you can consider a mandatory party next month!"

The author drily chuckled at his editor's threat. "I'll be sure to do so. Aikawa?"

The editor looked up. "Hmm?"

"Thank you."

Aikawa laughed. "You know, Sensei, you should give compliments more often. You might even encourage me to push back your deadlines, if only for a few days."

"Tch."

Once the editor had left, Akihiko stared down at the small card in his hands. He turned it over, mulling. Taking a deep breath, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone and dialed the printed number.

**Ah, so I hope this chapter explained a bit of why Akihiko behavior last night. Akihiko is frustrated because he's doubtful that Misaki would comprehend, emotion-wise, his actions last night. What's more confusing is the fact that Akihiko still has his lingering feelings for Takahiro. **

**Thank you guys for all the comments! I hope I can keep you guys on your toes on what happens next,**

**-TokyoSuite**


	7. Curiosity

**Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou Romantica.**

Misaki stared in wonder at the room he currently stood in.

Yesterday, when the author had retired upstairs, Misaki had opened the pink box as he was instructed. But when the cover had been fully lifted, he couldn't help but gasp.

Lying in the box was the most beautiful creation he had ever seen. It was a rich, dark brown, layered disc. Concentric circles of varying light and dark notes were laid elegantly on top of this circular sculpture, accented with a delicate artwork of dark, stacked half-curls. Almost-black sprinkles appeared to be artfully scattered, occasionally forming a light cloud of thatched dust. Spaced evenly along the outer edges of this circular masterpiece were clusters of thick ribbons, which, as the eye followed downward, showcased multiple strata of brown – ranging from light and feathery to heavy and rich. The intricacy of the workmanship of this piece simply blew the boy's mind.

Sitting there, Misaki was uncertain whether or not he could eat this. No, he was quite certain that he didn't _want _to eat it, because then he would mar and ruin the circular sculpture, and that would be an insult to whoever created this masterpiece.

But then, as he leaned in and sniffed the creation, he felt himself grow tempted to simply try a bite. He glanced at the other dishes on the table, which were mostly all half-eaten, save for a few plates that he had especially liked. He recalled that everything did appear to look very good back then too…

After a moment of internal warfare, Misaki reached for his chopsticks. Wincing, he carefully inserted one wooden stake into the very edge of the circular dessert. The stick sank in easily. Pulling a little, he marked a line across, cutting himself a sliver of the confection. Using both chopsticks, he picked up a piece of the sliver, placing it carefully in his mouth.

The texture of the confection was smooth, velvety, and luxurious, and ultimately dissolved into a creamy sweetness. Licking the sweet traces on his lips, Misaki quickly finished the slice.

He looked with longing at the rest of the circular disk. However, he soon realized a strange sensation that had begun to fill his stomach. The sensation blocked dampened his taste buds and smell, made his head feel a little hazy, and his body a little heavy.

He suddenly didn't want to eat any more.

Another feeling was slowly nagging on the back of his mind. It had to do with the dishes lying on the table. Something troubled him visually. He grew more and more uncomfortable; the longer he spent staring at the crowded table, the more annoyed the boy felt.

A loud ring echoed in the living room.

Misaki jumped, his eyes darting back and forth, looking for an intruder. Confused, his eyes registered the same familiar surroundings with no one there.

A second ring sounded.

Misaki cautiously stood up, making his way towards the odd sound. As he approached the two couches, he noticed the sound appeared to be coming from an odd looking instrument that sat on top of a small coffee table. It seemed to be an elongated and curved elliptical shape fitted on top of a rectangular, uneven box. The boy stopped in front of the instrument, staring perplexedly. He vaguely remembered that he had seen a similar looking contraption earlier that day...

The third ring sounded.

Misaki angled his chin and faced the contraption. "I don't understand why you are making this noise," Misaki spoke boldly, "but please be quiet." He lowered his voice, as he glanced worriedly at the stairs. "I think you might be disturbing a sleeping person."

Defying the boy's wishes, the object sounded for a fourth time.

And as if taunting the boy, the machine had rang for the fifth time.

Misaki was at his wits end. He had tried everything he could think of to make the instrument shut up – he had poked it, he tapped it, he stroked it, hell, he even bent down and closing his eyes, licked its beige skin. No, he definitely shouldn't have done that. Misaki grimaced, the unfortunate taste still in his mouth.

Growing irritated, he pushed the instrument, widening his eyes when he noticed that the elliptical shape shuddered a little. Oh? He reached forward to pull on the elliptical shape, and watched with fascination as the item on the table separated in two matching pieces. In his hands held one piece, the other remained rooted on the table.

Even more odd was that the ringing had finally stopped.

Only, Misaki heard a very faint voice emanating from the elliptical piece he held in his hand, a voice that, despite its small volume sounded irritated.

Slowly, Misaki brought the strange instrument to his ear, listening as the voice grew louder and louder. When the instrument had graced his ear, he could clearly make out the words that were being said.

"…finally pick up your phone! Sensei, I must ask you a favor. I know you dislike these things, but tomorrow there's a really brief meeting on your autograph signing – stupid Ryuichiro has requested that you be there, and I told him that you hate these things of course, but…wait, Sensei? Hello?"

Misaki didn't understand the voice on the other end, but nevertheless, he tried to be respectful. "Um…hello. I don't know who you are, but my name is Takahashi Misaki. It's nice to meet you."

For several seconds, the voice on the other end stilled.

Then, Misaki had to hold the instrument away from his ear, because what followed the silence had been an earsplitting, glass-shattering shriek. After making sure that the woman had exhausted her vocal chords, Misaki tentatively placed the instrument back on his shoulder. "Are you in any pain?" the boy asked, a bit frightened.

The person seemed to not hear his comment, for she was busy rabbling on about something "cute" and "adorable" and "voice of an angel" and "it's probably the first time he's answered a phone" and "I wonder why Sensei isn't with him" and then "that bastard is probably dodging his deadlines again".

After had took several breaths and calmed down, she began to ask clear questions. "Do you know where Usami Sensei is?"

"U-sa-gi?" He pronounced each syllable carefully.

There was a small pause on the other end. It seemed as though the woman was contemplating something. She responded, "Yes, Usagi-san."

Misaki couldn't understand. Why was this woman asking to know where a rabbit was? Perhaps she was an owner of the pet, and had lost him. It must have been a very important animal as well, for the woman to address her pet with honorifics. He looked over his shoulder at the living room, trying to find a soft, furry, white animal with long ears. No, there appeared to be no rabbit living in the apartment.

At the youth's silence, the woman on the other end quickly explained. "Oh, silly me! He probably hasn't even introduced himself to you yet. I was referring to a certain silver-haired man that lives in the apartment you're staying in."

He stilled. So his owner - the man that he had lived with for several hours, who was so elegant and refined, who had indescribable grace and allure, who radiated a sharp masculinity from within - was called a rabbit? Unconsciously, Misaki had imagined two little white ears sprouting from the silver-haired man's head. At the thought, Misaki felt a feeling of bubbliness well within his stomach and burst forth from his lips. The action caused his stomach to heave and shudder, and tears to form out of the corners of his eyes. He realized he could barely breathe.

On the other end of the line, the woman was silently squeeing. She realized that the boy's melodic voice sounded especially adorable in the form of laughter, and calmed herself down to be able to listen carefully to the boy.

Once he had quieted, Misaki pondered for a moment. Although he knew whom she was referring to, the man had appeared to not want to be bothered. He answered hesitantly. "I think he's sleeping." Then he paused. "Wait, so the name of my owner is a rabbit?"

The woman's tone conveyed utmost seriousness. "Yes. Actually," the woman's voice dropped to a whisper. "Let me tell you a secret. Although Usagi-san appears to be an aloof gentleman, he actually has a relative sensitive, childlike side to him. Although he may tell you otherwise, he secretly would love it if you would call him that."

Misaki nodded very seriously. "I see. I will do my best to make him happy."

From the other end, he heard the murmur of voices. It seemed, from the chaotic sounds of the rabble, that there seemed to be quite a few people near the woman. He also identified that they were rather loud and animated.

"Anyways, it's such a pleasure meeting you Misaki-"

"Wait!" The boy had heard the sound of finality in the woman's voice, and somehow he felt as though her voice would soon be gone. "Could I spare some of your time? It'll only take a few minutes."

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A few hours later, Misaki had stared proudly at his results. By listening to the woman's helpful advice, he had discovered how to empty much of the leftover plates into the "trash can", a place where all of the waste went, and how to repackage good sized portions of the rest of the dishes back into the fridge.

The fridge was absolutely amazing. He had learned that this huge rectangular white box could extend the life of each food up to three or four times. He was especially enthralled at the cool sensations that he felt each time he opened the door, which caused him to shiver at the exposure of cool air.

Then there was the sink. When he had slipped each dirty dish into hot water and soap, he saw the oils and remnants of the leftovers smoothly slip off, to dissolve and disappear into foamy water. He was pleased that such dirty dishes could transform into such clean, sparkling chinaware.

Afterwards, he had learned to dispose of the leftover cardboard box in a large recycling bin that was just down the hall of suite. Because he had no key, Misaki simply left the penthouse door slightly ajar when he dropped off the cardboard material, quickly to return and lock the door.

Finally, he had to check up on the author. Each time Misaki had opened one of the upstairs bedrooms, he was met with what appeared a children's inside playground of some sort. Luckily, when he had reached the last door on the hallway and opened it, he had seen, through dim light, the silvery head of the man that had found him that morning. The man that was currently sleeping in a room that was filled to the brim with stuffed animals and other toys.

Stepping carefully over a mini train set, the boy stopped next to the man's bed and and quietly observed the man's side profile.

The man was quite handsome, in that his facial features were very refined and elegant. Even in his sleep he had exuded a slightly aristocratic aura, as though he were the son of some wealthy family. The paleness of his skin and the paleness of his hair was rather unusual, and Misaki had to refrain himself from reaching forth to touch a soft strand.

"What are you doing, Misaki?" The boy thought to himself. "You're supposed to be waking him."

Yet, he found that he couldn't. The man appeared to look so peaceful in his slumber, that the boy didn't have the heart to disturb him. So, quietly, the boy had tiptoed back outside to the hallway. Walking downstairs, the boy suddenly realized he was very sleepy.

So, after discovering a blanket in a nearby closet, he had simply curled up on the sofa and fallen asleep.

**This entire chapter was from Misaki's perspective, which was so enjoyable to write because I had to think about everything from a new perspective. -Sigh-. Misaki is simply too adorable for his own good.**

**Edit: I went back to edit Misaki's conversation with Aikawa, based on a helpful suggestion from Don't Preach. She thought of introducing Misaki to the nickname "Usagi-san" through a mispronunciation over the phone, and voila! Here it is. **

**Once again, thank you all for the reviews!**

**-TokyoSuite**


	8. Cut

**Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou Romantica.**

**Note: This chapter might seem a bit of a filler, however I can assure all of you that the next chapter will be substantially meatier. In the next chapter, you'll begin to understand more of why Misaki is the way he is. But for now, please indulge in this chapter. **

Misaki stood in pleasant recollection of his first experience with the "kitchen" yesterday. He had discovered that he wanted to explore this area of the suite first because this was the room he was most fascinated with.

So after the author and his editor had left, Misaki found himself staring curiously at each of the cupboards, excitement tingling all over his body. Although he had previously seen what was behind those cupboards (mostly round, flat shapes), he didn't have the chance to observe in detail, the items that lay behind these wooden doors.

So taking a breath, he decided to start his exploration with the wooden cupboard that appeared in front of him. He opened it.

He was rewarded with glass discs of various sizes, all neatly stacked up on one another. He recognized that this looked almost exactly the same as the flat chinaware that he had washed yesterday; only these discs were almost transparent and had mosaic-like designs on them. Misaki found himself awestruck when he had held up a piece of glassware to the light. The emerald and jade butterfly etched on the side of the plate seemed to almost come to life, a shimmer of moving and reflecting colors.

Returning the glassware, Misaki opened the next cupboard. Here, he could see a modification of the disc theme – this time, he had come across square-like, bold-colored clayware that looked fairly sturdy and contemporary. He ran his fingers through an invisible glaze that covered surface, marveling at the fluidity at which his fingers were met with.

Misaki opened the next cupboard, and the one after that. The discs that lay in those cupboard were a similarly flat and round – adequate vessels for holding food.

Misaki had skipped the next set of doors, for he already knew what was behind them (he had spent last night drying and placing chinaware in the wooden recess, after all).

The next set set of doors revealed yet another modification to the disc theme. This time, however, he had noticed that the circular vessels were no longer flat, but tall and slender. He reached forward and grasped one of these vessels, realizing that it had fit perfectly in his grasp.

Misaki tilted his head to the side, in quiet thought. This container didn't seem like it would be a useful tool for holding food, as the walls were high and using chopsticks to reach the bottom seemed very inconvenient.

Then he remembered, when he was clearing away the dishes last night, a certain annoyance that had bothered him. Some of the dishes naturally had some liquid at the bottom, the seepage from the food. He remembered having to walk carefully to the sink, to avoid spilling the liquid from the shallow container.

A quiet epiphany hit him then, and he realized that the special vessel wasn't made to hold food. It was made to hold water.

The next few cupboards had items that he had remembered taking out briefly yesterday - they were similar to both the food-holding and the water-holding containers he had been inspecting earlier, only much larger. They also had a long, thin appendage that stuck out from the side that was smooth and rounded at the ends. Misaki grasped the item by its appendage, noticing that there was a heavy, transparent glass cover for it.

Confused, he wondered what these large containers were for. What particular use did these covers have? Food couldn't be eaten with a glass covering. Unless, perhaps these containers were for storage, and the glass covering was to prevent spoilage. But then, what was the strange appendage for? That would make these containers harder to fit in the fridge, or the cupboard.

Misaki decided to leave his question on the last few cupboards above for later, and instead, turned his attention on the many drawers underneath.

He pulled open the first drawer, and recognized some familiar items. He held up two of the instruments in which the author had explained to him. One was the item that "flipped things" and the other was supposedly called a "whisk". Keeping those things in the drawer, Misaki quickly took every other instrument out, lining them on the table.

He took the first thing that caught his attention.

The item could have been a normal metal container, with a white handle on top and without a bottom, if not for the fact that there were identical holes littering one side, in a tight array. Misaki turned the object, and saw the same was true for the next side – the only difference was that these were elliptical. He turned the contraption again, and saw larger circles. Finally, in the last side, there was simply one carved out line.

Misaki curiously reached forward to touch one of the circles. Like lightning, his hand retracted, and Misaki quickly bit his finger. After he felt a hot sting slowly begin to die down, he slowly let go of his lips to observe what had happened.

Where pale, unadulterated skin had once covered existed a small, red, angry break of skin. A drop of red liquid had oozed out of the abrasion, falling soundlessly onto the tiled floor.

Misaki now stared at the metal box with horror, slowly stepping backwards from the various other metal instruments, which suddenly appeared to be sharper, as though they were threatening him.

Once he had reached the stairwell, he had taken two steps at a time, running past the rooms in the middle, towards the one door at the end of the hallway. After he had closed the door, he flung himself onto the bed and hid under the covers.

He hoped that his owner was coming home soon.

**BWAHAHAHA! Misaki hiding underneath Akihiko's covers...waits to see where that will lead.**

**AMSwafford92 - Thank you for acknowledging my handwork. It really pays off for you to say that you got some of the emotions that I was aiming for. Haha, but I love spoiling you guys!**

**Everlasting Snow Princess - Yes, Misaki is absolutely adorable. **

**Orcux - It's explained somewhat more later on in the story, but you summed it up pretty well. I think is angry at himself that he's responded to a robot boy. Yes, he also has lingering affections for Takahiro.**

**MoonlightatDusk - Thank you for acknowledging my work! Hehe, I feel that all the sweetness Usagi-san needs in his life is embodied in one certain green-eyed, brown-haired boy...**

**GothicNinjaKitty - Don't we all? XD**

**imjustnobody - Yes, yes (licks lips), how will Akihiko respond to a bleeding boy underneath his bed?**

**Don't Preach - Most of my responses are already PM-ed to you, but once again, thank you for your long and thoughtful reviews. **

**Thank you for reviewing and commenting on my fiction! You guys inspire me to put up chapters faster. New readers, please don't hesitate to let me know you were here.**

**-TokyoSuite**


	9. Explanation

**Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou Romantica.**

**Note: This chapter is really dense. By dense, I mean tons of dry information about robots and how they function. However, I believe that if you suffer through it, you will have a better understanding of how and why Misaki appears to be so uncannily human.**

Akihiko sat in the seat of his car, his expression grim. He recalled what had happened in the last few hours.

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The author was sitting on a chair in a small office. There were scientific magazines that were scattered on the table next to him – he had gone through the motions of reading one, but in all honestly he wasn't paying attention to a single word on the page.

Instead, his mind was elsewhere. Specifically, he had wondered whether it was a good idea to have left the boy on his own in the spacious apartment. Although the boy seemed perfectly fine that morning, he seemed to get himself tangled in shenanigans quite often.

That morning.

Akihiko's mind briefly mulled the boy's expression when he woke up, noticing that the boy seemed perfectly fine and chipper, all traces of yesterday completely gone from his bright expression. When he had met the boy's gaze, he detected no malicious intent, no anger, no sadness. The boy had simply stared at him questioningly, as he glanced away.

Akihiko grimaced. He had lost control over last night. He didn't know how, but he had blown up yesterday.

He tried to understand why he had reacted the way he did. In the twenty-eight years of his existence, the author could count the number of times he had truly showed anger on one hand. He rarely displayed anger, and this adult-like quality held its roots in his childhood.

Even as a child, he had rarely thrown tantrums. While other little boys were screaming at their parents, begging and crying for toys and candy, engaged in fistfights and verbal taunts with their friends, the silver-haired youth had spent days holed up in his bedroom writing.

He never yelled at his father, who put his work in front of his family. He never cried when his mother turned his back on him, choosing her alcohol over her son. He never hit his older brother, who had sneered upon him and thought of him inferior.

Instead, he simply wrote. He would write long, hard, fast, and furiously. He would watch with morbid fascination as he inflicted angry black scars on the white space. Snap! Break. The ebony tip would lay shattered, black dust coating the boy's fingers. Each harsh line, each stiff sentence conveyed the boy's inner anger and loneliness.

But slowly, as the years passed, the scrawl had begun to lose its bite. The letters grew smoother and less intimidating, his sentences straightened and left behind its past childish immaturity. As the years passed, the pencil's frustrated boy owner had grown to be an apathetic young man.

Who one day abandoned the writing instrument altogether, when he had left the house to pursue his dreams.

"Excuse me? Sir?"

Akihiko glanced up, noticing that the receptionist was looking at him.

The woman motioned towards a door. "Hayashi-san will now see you."

Akihiko stood up, returning the magazine. Taking a deep breath, he entered the office.

Although it wasn't a very large office, because it contained only a few pieces of furniture, it gave the illusion of being fairly spacious. In front of him stood a large oak table, some chairs, a shelf filled with thick binders, and a black-haired man with black-rimmed glasses who was currently sitting on a leather chair, perusing his laptop.

Upon sensing a presence above him, the man looked up. "Ah, Usami-san. Please take a seat." The black-haired man had closed his computer, and was sitting across from the silver-haired man with a smile. "I sense that you are dying to know the mysteries behind my newest creation," the man said, folding his arms underneath his chin.

"You created him?"

The man leaned back, closing his eyes. "I did."

"How?"

"How, you ask?" The man was silent for several moments. When he opened his eyes, he regarded the author with the tilt of his head. "Hmm. That is a most interesting question. If you asked me how long I spent physically constructing the boy, I would say it was the span of several years. However, in actuality, entire lifetimes of scientists had been sacrificed for this ultimate prototype."

The man had stood up, and began pacing.

"For centuries we have created robots as machines – machines that simply work to do the bidding of their owners, to be turned on and off at the flick of a button. They were dull and stupid, and lifeless. They were no different from scraps of metal. They couldn't have any emotions, they couldn't _think_. Besides manual work, they were useless. Absolutely useless."

The man paused. A fire had lit in his eyes. "But then, we began to use our imaginations. Outwardly, we had changed the appearance. They were no longer mere scraps of metal. No, they were more than that. We had changed their outward appearance into something more sophisticated. We had started to give them appendages, torsos, faces. We grew more detailed, giving them eyes and lips, and hair so that they resembled _us_. From a sculptor's perspective, this was a perfectly carved, human masterpiece. Yet the sculpture still hadn't come to life. It could breathe, with its artificial heart, but its eyes were still lifeless."

"Let me remind you that even without any emotions or thoughts, the boy was still a major success. For example, think about this – what is a smile? If I ask any little girl or boy for me to smile, they could easily and naturally do so."

"But what is a smile to a robot? It is a complex algorithm of muscle plate movement, hidden underneath the skin. Each sensor must be precisely calibrated to tweak a plate only to the slightest degree – too much and the boy could appear as though he was a clown, too little and the boy would have no expression at all!"

"Then take, say, the senses. What are eyes? To us, it is the organ in which we see colors and movement."

"But to a robot? It is a multitude of cameras, angled at the specific way as to give the world a three-dimensional perspective. Thousands of frames per minute, the sensors of the robot will categorize specific color patterns to recognize items. Take this pen, for instance."

The scientist held up a long, wooden instrument with a metallic tip.

"The robot has never seen this object before. Thus, he takes a snapshot with his eyes, and before him lies a cylindrical, pixelated brown object that is slightly pointed at the end. He would store this information, along with this picture, to the far corners of his memory for future recollection. The next time he sees a new pen, the similarity of the cylindrical, pointed shape will call forth the old photograph stored within the recesses of his mind, and he will make a connection that these two instruments share the same purpose. If you teach it to him, he will learn to associate every writing instrument like this, as a "pen"."

Akihiko stared, slowly comprehending. That was why the boy was so keen on learning the names of all the kitchen equipment he touched.

"Hearing works in a similar fashion. It is an audio recorder that computes the duration, frequency and magnitude of an unknown sound. By using these four qualities, the robot will file the sound away in its memory, to draw it forth another day the next time it hears the sound. But then, you're probably thinking whether it recognizes voices. The answer is yes. How?"

"Let's take your voice as an example. Say something."

"I like marimo."

The scientist raised his eyebrow. He'd heard the author was a bit eccentric. "Okay. Now, can you say it an two octaves higher?"

At the irritated expression of the author, Hayashi Jin laughed. "I'm sorry. But you see, this is the first test. If I asked it to recognize your voice, it would most definitely be able to guess it right at least fifty-percent of the time. Why? Because half the population in this world are females. The range of a female voice is almost always higher than a male voice, and thus the robot can identify the difference between your voice and, say, Aikawa's."

"So it's a measurement of the fundamental pitch of a person's voice."

"Precisely. The next standard would be the timbre of your voice, or the quality. There are many men in this world with a low voice just as yours, Usami-san, however not many people would have your bored intonation. There's also an underlying gutturalness to your voice, and a certain drawl – you tend to linger on certain syllables."

"The third and final test would be your vocabulary. Every person has their own distinct set of vocabulary they frequently use. You're an author, aren't you? Is it not true that you can sometimes identify a certain author by their writing style?"

"Hmm." The author murmured an assent.

"How do you do so? Well, the most basic way is to notice the words they use. If I were a 5-year-old child, what sorts of words would be on the tip of my tongue? Probably something like "yay!", "yummy", "afraid of the dark", phrases that I hardly think someone like you would use, am I right? If it were Aikawa, I should imagine that a good chunk of the words that come out of her mouth when talking to Misaki would be something along the lines of "cute" and "adorable", words that I personally would never use to describe the boy."

"So now, what about the other senses? Smell and taste both are peculiar in their unusual method of receiving information. They both rely on detecting molecules dispersed in different foods. For example, the natural scent of a banana is produced by the chemical ester. What you perceive as the banana is actually your taste bud's perception and recognition of that compound. The same goes with the taste of the banana."

"In any case, in both, a compound detector that is located at the back of the boy's mouth detects these compounds, and translates it to flavors."

The scientist took a deep breath. "The last sense, touch, is very complicated. You see, for a human, it's quite easy to feel something. When you touch something, what makes you determine whether it's hard or soft?"

Akihiko stared, somewhat dumbfounded.

"Well, one way to tell is the leniency of a material." The scientist stood up, pulled his fingers into a fist, and gave three rapid knocks on his desk. "I know that this material is hard because the material doesn't bend or shrink when I touch it. But if I were to move my fingers along here," the scientist reached and patted his own sweater, "I would notice that the fabric sort of cinches beneath my fingers, which signifies that it is rather lenient, not rigorous like my desk wood."

"Then what about smooth versus rough?"

Akihiko reached forward and touched the scientist's desk. "It's smooth because there aren't many bumps. It's completely flat."

"You are right again, Usami-san. The surface of smooth things is without height variation. It is all uniform. But when we touch the surface of gravel, the little pieces all cause the height of the surface to vary – and thus, we perceive this as rough. Using these two qualities - leniency and height variation - a robot can logically come to the conclusion of the general texture of a surface."

"I believe the conception of the two polar temperatures, hot and cold is fairly straight forward, however one sensation experienced by all humans some time in their life is not."

The author held in his breath. "What is it?"

The scientist responded simply. "Pain."

"It's part of your body's natural defense system, of course. When have an injury, your immune system's response is to fire signals to your brain to activate you to take care of your wound – and the way it signals this is to make you feel terrible. Horrible, isn't it? But in this case, the brain will never accidentally forget to treat the injury, because you will keep feeling terrible until it gets better."

"Then how does…"

"…Misaki feel pain?" The scientist smiled, having accurately predicted the man's thoughts. "There is a thin layer of material covering Misaki's body, similar to skin, that, when punctured, release a fluid similar to blood. This red fluid actually travels throughout his entire body, much like our human circulatory system, so that technically, he could receive an injury anywhere. However, the question isn't whether or not he could receive an injury, the question is how Misaki can actually _feel _his injury."

"Well, the answer isn't all that happy." The scientist sighed. "Because the boy could never naturally feel pain just from a tear of his skin, we have to force him to feel pain."

Akihiko stared. "How?"

"Well, I will get to that later," the scientist spoke, "because pain is as much of a physical sensation as it is a mental one."

The scientist paused. "So far we've covered the robot's similarity to a human externally, but we've yet to discover the similarities we hold internally. Such as our emotions and our thoughts."

"Similarities?" The author looked in disbelief. "But how is it possible for a robot to have the same emotions as a human? There's no way that could happen."

Hayashi Jin smiled. "Ah, but here, you're wrong."

The smile grew larger. "Because whether or not emotions exist is not for you to determine, it is for the robot itself."

"What?"

"If Misaki were to tell you one day, the he woke up feeling like the happiest boy on Earth, what would you say?"

"That's ridiculous, Misaki can't feel-"

"Precisely. You would brush it aside as an impossible scenario. You would think to yourself that this is completely absurd, that Misaki couldn't have feelings. But that's not what Misaki thinks."

The scientist quietly exhaled. "Misaki would believe it. He would believe that he was the happiest boy in the world, and how is he to know otherwise? He doesn't know what "human" happiness is, he's never encountered it. There's no basis of comparison. How is he to know that _your_ happiness is any different from _his _happiness? How is he to know that there is an infinite gap of difference between your smile, of flesh and blood, and his, of machine circuitry? How is he to realize that his feelings are derived from the complex motherboard of a supercomputer? The answer is he doesn't. He doesn't know."

"To put it simply, Misaki believes he's a human. And in that way, he actually _becomes _human."

The scientist stopped. The author was staring at him in both horror and amazement. "So what you're saying is..." the author stopped, trying to comprehend what he had just been told, "...Misaki actually would feel that his own feelings were genuine? That Misaki would honestly believe that he was happy, or sad, or angry, or jealous, or..."

The scientist raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"...in love?"

The scientist paused a little, watching the silver-haired man closely. The man's voice sounded incredulous, but there was a spark of fear in the man's eyes. "Yes, Misaki would believe these feelings. And thus, he would actually _have_ feelings."

"But how would he attain emotions in the first place?" The author demanded.

"The key," the scientist replied, "is time."

"You see, we've designed Misaki with a blank slate. When he arrived on your doorstep, he had no previous memories, feelings, or even much pre-programmed knowledge about the world. That is why you must have thought him quite childish and limited - he was staring at the world for the very first time. Actually, this is where _you_ come in." The scientist was staring seriously at the author.

"If we had just let him stay at an empty apartment for thirty days - yes, he would learn. Within the first few days, he would attempt to categorize the colors of the living room and perhaps replay the answering machine over and over again. Within the next week, he would discover how to use a microwave to heat up some cold broth, or to use a freezer to make jello. Eventually, he would probably discover how to clean the house on his own, how to cook, how to read, how to watch television...do you see where I'm going, Usami-san?"

The amethyst-eyed man was flummoxed. "No."

"He would have advanced leaps and bounds in learning how to do all of these things, true, but he wouldn't move one step forward in terms of emotional maturity. He still wouldn't understand what a smile meant. Or what crying was, or why a certain boy blushes whenever a certain pretty girl walks by him. He would be confused as to why people wasted their time holding hands - he'd think it would be faster to just walk alone. He would know the dictionary definition of words such as "jealousy", but would he actually act that way? No, he wouldn't. He would be stunted emotionally."

"That is why I agreed to let Aikawa send Misaki to you. _You _were Usami Akihiko, aged 28, recipient of the Naomori Award. A famous author who constantly failed at meeting his deadlines and absolutely hated being seen in the public. A man who slept late, ordered takeout, and spent his remaining afternoons writing. It was perfect. You needed Misaki, but you didn't realize that Misaki needed you."

The amethyst-eyed man sat, speechless.

"You are the role model, Usami-san. He would learn all of his emotions from _you_. It's all new to him, of course, so first he would likely begin by watching you. You would smile at something that you enjoyed, most likely, and frown at something you disliked. Misaki would not only learn these emotions, he'd also learn of your personality, and your preferences. As the days go by, Misaki will slowly learn to become a real human boy, all from observing you."

The author stared at the scientist. One last thought needed to be cleared up. "You talked about pain?"

The scientist widened his eyes. "Oh, I almost forgot. Pain." The man leaned forward. "It's not possible for Misaki's pain to be physical. Like I told you, a simple abrasion of the boy's skin will cause blood to gather, but the boy would feel absolutely nothing. So, in order to make him feel pain, we force him to make an association with _something painful_. This something painful comes in the form of memories, specifically unhappy ones."

"To put it simply - when the boy receives his first cut, the blood would trigger his mind and senses to be filled with the emotions of his most recent unhappy memory."

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**Sorry if this chapter was really confusing, especially the ending. If you guys read it and go "huh?", you're not the only one. I literally was really confused writing this, and there were times where I had to reread what I wrote to make sure it made sense. Which I hope it does. If it doesn't, then please let me know in your review or by sending me a private message.**

**Thank you all who reviewed!**


	10. Blown

**Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou Romantica. **

Akihiko opened his eyes, his mind gradually returning to the present. Tiredly, he stepped out of his car and made his way up to his apartment.

In all honesty, the author felt deeply drained after the morning ordeal, and had desired an afternoon of peaceful solitude. Given his current living situation, however, that was next to impossible. So as he neared his suite, he only prayed that a certain dark-haired boy didn't get himself into trouble.

As he stepped inside, however, Akihiko could feel himself tense. Something wasn't right.

For all the hustle and bustle of the crowded city below, the entire apartment was eerily quiet. The living room looked almost exactly the same as it had been when he had left it a few hours earlier, the furniture untouched and tidy, save for one important detail.

The boy was gone.

The author swiftly strode across the room, his amethyst eyes sweeping every corner and nook, trying to ascertain whether the boy was engaged in a playful game of hide-and-seek. Upon finding nothing, he turned towards the kitchen, hoping to find the boy by the fridge, perhaps poking his nose in the cold machine in curiosity.

He didn't find the boy. What he did find was a kitchenware arrangement, a haphazard pile of cooking tools that stood on the counter. These instruments, which were deliberately brought out of their drawer, appeared to have been simply abandoned.

Akihiko drummed his fingers absentmindedly on the tabletop.

These were common, ordinary items - some plastic, some metal; some were large and bulky, others slender and long; some items dull, other items sharp-

Akihiko stiffened. His knuckles turned white. He could only stare dumbly for a few moments, his mind registering the implications of his train of thought.

No.

The author turned and started to run, panic starting to overwhelm his senses. He yanked open the first door. Nothing. He pushed onto the second door, the third, the fourth. His last chance stood on the only door left. His hand stilled on the doorknob, before he took one slow breath and entered his own bedroom.

He didn't pay any attention to the toys littered on the floor, or the stuffed animals that clung to the shelves. He only comprehended his own bed, where white covers had been drawn over a small, shivering ball.

"Misaki." He thought.

The ball, as if highly agitated, continued to squirm restlessly from side to side.

Slowly, Akihiko approached the bed, stopping at the side of it. He sat down, his hands reaching forward to touch the boy. As soon as his fingers made contact with the white blanket, the shaking completely stopped. Akihiko's fingers slowly extended, gently grasping the edge of the sheet. Inch by inch, he peeled back the soft cover. The thick white fabric slid down the bed, revealing the boy in his fragility.

The boy lay perfectly still - his body a tense, recoiled spring. Limbs were tucked in a fetal position, with both arms tucked close to the boy's chest, the left hand clutched around the right. His eyes were squeezed tightly, shielding himself from the outside world.

Soundlessly, Akihiko breached the distance between their fingertips. His hand lingered, above the boy's curved fists, before gracing the boy's skin with barest of touches. Upon feeling the boy's cool skin underneath his palm, Akihiko had covered the boy's small hands with his own. Placing his thumb on the back of the boy's left hand, he began to stroke in soothing motions along a barely visible vein. Beckoning, his fingers drew questions on the boy's skin.

_Where? Where does it hurt?_

He thought he had heard a silent intake of breath. The boy's fingers, which had been tightly interlocked, began to unravel. The left hand had fallen, dropping to the boy's side. Slowly, the boy had extended out his right hand, shivering as he did so.

_Here_.

Akihiko watched as the appendage slowly unfurled. On the second finger blossomed a dark red welt.

Amethyst eyes roved the flesh, as the man wordlessly brought the boy's hands to his lips. Closing his eyes, the author had tenderly blown. There was a quiet breath, and then a warm puff of air had enveloped the area of scarred skin.

A moment later, the tightly coiled-up spring within the boy was released. His limbs had unfrozen, shuddering and breaking free from the tension. The boy's eyes flew open. Those pools reflected the feelings of crashing, tumultuous waves. For a few silent seconds, those stormy green orbs were met and held fast by a firm, unwavering violet gaze.

Then, the cold current had died down, returning to a calm, green sea.

Blinking, the boy took in his surroundings. He was lying on a large mattress, in the dark. He was surrounded by stuffed animals, including one particular silver-haired one, who was staring at him with violet eyes.

Embarrassment inflamed his cheeks, as he realized what had happened. He remembered that he had been exploring the kitchen, quite normally, until he had stumbled across that strange instrument. Upon observing the metal contraption with many gaping mouths, he had wondered briefly what it would feel like to stick his finger into one. That was a mistake. Once his fingers had touched the sharp teeth, a swift jolt of electricity had caused him to yank away his hand. As he slowly stared at his fingers, he noticed that a darkened red line had formed on his skin.

But even more than that, he felt a sickening sensation suddenly churn in his stomach. His inner torso emitted a heavy throb, slowly spreading a feeling of thickness throughout his entire body. His head began to pound harshly, incessantly. It then that he had felt it - within he felt an aching sensation come from deep within his mind. The sensation had grown stronger and stronger, until he had felt his entire mind brutally submerged like a frozen iceberg. Underneath those cold drowning waters, he couldn't breathe. Within his mind, one particular thought was gasping, struggling to be pulled from the deep depths. A flicker of silver-hair. Musk. No. Stop. He wanted it to stop.

He needed to escape from that dangerous thing.

Instinctively, his legs had carried him towards the stairs. When he had reached the hallway, his eyes had zoomed in on one door, his refuge. He had grabbed the door, flung himself inside, and then had immersed himself in desperately sought relief. But while the softness of the bed was comforting towards his skin, his insides still were in a flurried frenzy, and he could only shiver as his thoughts struggled to keep afloat. But it was too late, he was already sinking. He was being pulled, he was being drowned into one memory.

_The author turned to look at him. _

_Those eyes, which were normally a placid lavender, were now a scathing heliotrope._

_The man's silent response had been louder than a thousand screams._

As the boy shivered underneath his covers, his mind was plagued. He could only squeeze more tightly into a ball, covering his head with his hands. But as he struggled some more, he had felt a hand gently touch his shoulder. It was such a gentle feeling, that the boy had immediately halted in his vice-like thoughts. It was then that Misaki had begun to experience a slow relief. His mind had slowly cleared, his chest had slowly lightened. Now here he was, in the author's personal place of sleeping, no less.

One of his first idle thoughts had floated out of his lips. "I'm hungry."

The silver-haired man looked down, an expression of relief displayed across his stern features. "I'll go down and order something."

Suddenly, the boy recalled the intimidating weapon that lay waiting downstairs. He sat up quickly, his hand grasping the man's arm. "No, don't!"

The author turned around, surprised.

"There's a," Misaki looked down, "...a monster down there."

The author raised his eyebrow. "Monster?"

"Although it doesn't look scary, it's all a trap! There are mouths covering all of its sides waiting to bite you, and once you get bitten, you'll definitely feel regret that you didn't listen to me!" The boy emphasized that last phrase, looking a bit fierce as he did so.

A flicker of amusement darted through the man's eyes. Oh, how was this boy so adorable? He opened his mouth. "That's not possible. I've been immune to monsters ever since I was born." The voice was low, deep and monotonous.

He felt the huge urge to laugh at the boy's gawking face.

He smirked. "But if you're really that afraid, why don't we go together?"

**Out of all the chapters that I've published so far, this one is by far the most lyrical and poetic. I chose to orient this chapter in such a way that the reader would get a sensory overload of information, and feel the same emotions of fear and confusion upon his first encounter with pain. Because this chapter focuses immensely on the small details, it was rather limited plot movement. Please forgive me if this chapter seems, in any way, too repetitive or boring. **

**AMSwafford92 - **Misaki's first kiss with Akihiko, although very pleasurable, was not an altogether happy memory because of Akihiko's sudden and cold departure. Hence, it is the first memory that Misaki recalls when he gets cut. ****

**I'm so glad that you thought Ch. 9 made sense, this gives me faith in my writing. Also, thank you so much for commenting on my chapters on such a regular basis. Your constant feedback is great to read. **

**Rejean - Misaki is quite adorable. I hope this chapter was satisfying, on how things played out.**

**CarmieHimie - Haha. Now, he'll get some of his own personality later on, but for now, we get to see a very child-like and innocent version of him. I can't wait to see how Akihiko will react when he does grow a personality. XD**

**darkhuntressxir - Confusing, isn't it? I'm glad you got it after the second time. :D**

**MickeyandMouse - I didn't specifically think about AI while I was writing this fiction, but your comparison to the movie actually makes a lot of sense. Misaki is similar to the child in AI, in that he appears to be so childish and human.**

**dirtylittlefreak - Thank you. That you liked my writing has made me very happy. **

**Thank you everyone who commented and reviewed! Also, thank you to everyone who subscribed to my story. Please look forward to the next chapter! **

**-TokyoSuite**


	11. Understanding

**Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou Romantica.**

**Note: I'm sorry that I took a bit long releasing this chapter. You see, I found my beta. She will be dutifully checking my grammar errors from now on. Because of this, there might be longer spans between the upcoming chapters. **

Akihiko stood at the top of the staircase, his mouth turned upwards into a small smile.

The boy had the tail of his white shirt clenched tightly in small hands. Green eyes peered hesitantly from behind him, staring doubtfully down the stairs. The author felt small, hesitant breaths warm his back.

Slowly, he had extended his foot. And let it fall to the next step. He felt the boy's body stumble down after his, and the fabric around his waist abruptly tightened. He paused. Once the boy had maintained his footing, the author had taken another step.

And another.

And another.

He had paused after each one, letting the boy adjust at each small landing. As he neared the base, he felt the grip on his shirt tighten. At the last step, he turned around. "Misaki."

The boy squeaked in surprise, almost slamming headfirst into the black satin of a tuxedo vest.

"Wait here. I'm going to go..." the author coughed a little, "...check out that monster." The author's mouth was pressed in a firm line, but his lips were twitching slightly.

Misaki had a moment of insight. The man's words showed that he was trying to be brave. However, the slight hesitation in his voice, and the quivering of his lips indicated that the man was actually afraid. Upon this realization, the boy suddenly found a small tremor of strength within himself. He reached forward and touched his hand on the man's arm. "It's okay, Usagi-san. Let's go together."

At this, amethyst eyes widened. Before him, the silver-haired man stood, quite shocked. "Who told you that?"

The boy stared confusedly. "What?"

"Who told you to call me that?" the author demanded, his normally calm voice had a sharpened edge.

The boy was somewhat taken aback. He had not been expecting a tone of displeasure. Then he had remembered the conversation he had with the man's editor on the phone. Through her words, the author's reaction had seemed to make sense. "Aikawa-san. She told me that although you may not show it, you secretly would like it."

Those amethyst eyes looked very weary. "Misaki, don't listen to anything that editor of mine says. Half of the time she's crazy."

The man sighed, turning around. There was a quiet command. "Stay here. I'll be right back." In long strides, the author had disappeared into the kitchen.

Misaki stood on the bottom step, staring down. The earlier feeling of dread that had welled up inside his stomach had quelled, replaced by increasing waves of bewilderment. Although the editor had indicated that the author would secretly enjoy being called that name, when he had gazed into those amethyst eyes, the boy felt almost certain that the opposite was true. Staring down, the boy briefly wondered why.

Logically, it made sense. Why would his owner want to be called a rabbit? Men were not four-legged, soft-furred, long-eared creatures. Despite that rational explanation, however, the name seemed to somehow fit. Perhaps it was the physical resemblance between the two magnificent beings. The silver strands of feathery light hair were akin to the soft, silky fur of the small mammal. The man's leaned and muscled limbs moved with surprising smoothness and agility, reminding him of the natural litheness of a rabbit's body. Those amethyst eyes appeared so majestic and out-of-the-world they couldn't have possibly belonged to a human.

Now that he thought about it, both also seemed to always have the same, bored expression on their faces.

"Misaki. Give me your finger."

The boy broke from his reverie, noticing that the man had returned. Hesitantly, he held out his right hand.

He looked to see a long, beige strip being wrapped firmly around his broken flesh. There was a dull burn at the contact, an ache that resonated throughout his hand. But once he felt a padded pressure around his skin, he began to feel a little better.

The author coughed. "This band that you have on, it...protects you. You don't need to be afraid of the monster anymore."

Misaki glanced down at the porous strip, filled with hesitation. The narrow patch seemed so small and insignificant against his vision of a hundred gaping jaws of metal. But then, wasn't it possible that the sticky band was embedded with a sort of special power? Couldn't its composition be of an incredibly dense material impermeable to sharp edges, couldn't it's plain appearance cover up a powerful invisible force shield? The fact that the strip had already comforted his abraded skin signified, to the boy, that it had the intrinsic capability to protect.

Upon looking into the author's eyes, the boy felt any remaining doubt in his chest wash away by shades of soothing purple.

"Okay," he said, mustering his confidence.

There was a smile. "Let's go, then."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Misaki had found that the author was quite right. The band was a good protector - he had spent the entire afternoon in the kitchen, and he did not receive a single cut while he was there.

The boy currently sat on a dining room chair, an enormous stack of books in a pile on the table. He had, in front of him, one particularly large tome that was split open, and was softly resting his fingers on a tight chunk of text. Green eyes weren't focused on the page, however. They had been staring rather absentmindedly at the kitchen for the last few minutes. The light in those emerald orbs grew far and distant, as the boy slowly drifted into the warm past of a few hours ago.

He remembered that after he had put on the band, the author had led him to the kitchen. Upon approaching the pile of metalware, Misaki had gripped the man's hand very tightly. When he had noticed the four-sided, sharp-mouthed trap, he quickly hid behind the author's back.

Amethyst eyes glimmered. The author reached forth and graced his fingers along the silvery, holed sides. The boy quickly squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for a sharp intake of breath and a low, pained growl.

The reaction never came.

Opening both eyes, Misaki saw that the author was staring at him, a particular expression on his face. The man's facial features were fixed at a handsome angle – his cheekbones were high, his lips were tilted upwards, and his eyes held a clearly satisfied glint. For some reason, looking at the expression made the boy feel somewhat annoyed.

"So, the monster you were referring too was this?" The author's voice was silky, like running water.

"Well, no, I mean, yes...but it was different! It doesn't attack you, maybe it's just me!" Misaki stared helplessly at the author.

Long, pale fingers held the instrument up by the handle, pointing to a formation of little nicks."Misaki. This isn't a monster. It's a cheese grater."

"Cheese grater?"

A round, red fruit was selected from a glass jar. The fruit was brought forward and then promptly pushed towards the surface of sharp points. Red and silver met. Crushed. A sphere was slowly being eaten, until it was only three-fourths of a full moon. The instrument was tapped several times on the counter, then pulled upwards.

A pile of yellow slivers and red ribbons now lay on the counter.

Misaki stared, dumbfounded. "It hurts fruit?"

The man's lips had quivered, and a low rumble had escaped the man's mouth. "That's one way of putting it."

Misaki suddenly recalled his earlier exploration, and ran to the far cupboard, taking out the large container with a black appendage and a lid. "What's this, then?"

"A pot."

"What does it do?"

"Cooks."

"Cooks?"

"Hmm. You put it on a stove," the author motioned towards a black machine next to the fridge. "The surface becomes hot. Food changes texture." Hands gestured towards the dining room. "Once your finished, you put it on a plate. It becomes a dish."

"So by using this, you can create dishes?" He recalled the plates that he had eaten yesterday. Each dish was so marvelously crafted and delicious, that the very thought of duplicating that art form left the boy feeling an intense wave of pleasure.

"Yes."

The boy stared at the author in awe. "Can you teach me?"

The author stared, amused. "Misaki. I don't think that would be a good idea."

Eyebrows furrowed. "Why not?"

The author looked completely serious, staring forlornly at the stove. "Because despite my best intentions, my eggs turn out black."

The boy blinked. Although he couldn't quite understand what the author meant, something about the man's tone indicated that he did not like cooking very much.

The author was thoughtful. "But if I remember correctly, I should have some cookbooks lying around here." The silver-haired man sauntered out of the room and disappeared upstairs. Moments later, he reemerged holding a stack of thick box-like structures. He placed them on a nearby sofa. "After we finish eating, you're free to look at these."

Misaki could scarcely contain his excitement. He stood, his hands itching to touch those bounds.

"Misaki, I have to go out in a few hours. When I'm gone, you may help yourself to any of the leftovers in the fridge. Although," the silver-haired author turned towards the boy. "Do not touch the stove. If you do so, you'll be in danger of hurting yourself."

After eating lunch and working a little on his writing, the author had left the apartment mid-afternoon. When he had left, Misaki had taken those books from the sofa and put them on the dining room table. Taking the first one out, he had flipped to the first page and started to read. Soon, he had been so immersed in learning recipes, that he had forgotten the time.

But that had been earlier this afternoon. Now, the dark skyline showed that it was indeed well into the night. Misaki glanced at the empty apartment, a slow and dull emptiness had slowly crept into his mind. The emptiness spread throughout the rest of his body, but eluded his stomach. For some reason, he wasn't hungry.

There was a ring in the living room.

Misaki glanced up at the noise, moving away from his table. His feet moved towards the coffee table. He reached down to pick up the elliptical shape. "Hello?" He asked, dully.

There was a voice on the other end.

He listened quietly. "What? He's...what?"

The boy widened his eyes.

**The burnt egg is a reference to the Super Deluxe Fluffy Omelet scene in the anime! Oh, Akihiko. He tries.**

**Oh, one more thing. Yeah, I realize this chapter may seem a bit boring (again). I'll try to make the next chapter very exciting. After all, it'll be Misaki's first time away from the apartment. **

**AMSwafford92 - Haha! I wonder if Akihiko might have been afraid of monsters when he was little...probably not, huh?**

**darkhuntressxir - Isn't he? Mi-chan, come here! (Gets glared at by Akihiko).**

**8GreenMoon - I'm glad that you enjoyed my take on the characters. While Akihiko is often portrayed as an insensitive bastard (which he is, sometimes), I wanted to take my time to flesh out his other personality traits.**

**dirtylittlefreak - Initially, I was thinking along the two extremes. Half of my brain was like, "Let's make Misaki a full robot! No emotions!" The other half was like, "Maybe we could transform him into a human boy at the end?" Anyways, then the last few paragraphs of Ch. 9 kind of wrote themselves, and I was satisfied with my result.**

**SparklyDragonite - Thank you so much. Your review is so detailed and a pleasure to read. **

**MickeyandMouse - You liked that paragraph, and I conveyed to you what "pain" was? Yay!**


	12. Drunk

**Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou Romantica.**

**Note: Agh, I lied guys! I originally planned for this to be a Misaki chapter, but then I started writing about Akihiko, and then a few sentences turned into a few paragraphs, and the few paragraphs soon turned to an entire chapter. So, here's to Akihiko and his memories! -Clinking of wine glasses-**

Akihiko breathed out a ring of smoke.

The grey motes dissolved into the heavy air, immersed into the thick and heavy atmosphere. Around him, rowdy laughter and drunken catcalls sounded distant and far away. A heavy throb pulsated, drowning out his thoughts.

_It was the first day of class. He placed his book bag beside his chair, before sliding into his seat. He gazed at the window, fixated on the bits of floating white that lingered modestly in the blue sky. A thought vaguely formed in his mind, to lightly disintegrate into another. Like a gentle breeze, his mind slowly drifted. _

_A loud thump sounded beside him. A second or two had passed, in tension. He heard someone take a breath, then stop, waiting. When the silence lingered too long, he reluctantly turned from the window._

_He was met with warm, dark brown eyes that belonged to a seemingly ordinary boy with parted black hair and glasses. _

_"Hello! I'm Takahashi Takahiro. What's your name?"_

_He was taken aback, a little surprised at the boy's forwardness. Most girls, upon first meeting him, had squealed and begged to touch his soft hair; the boys had glared with undisguised animosity and jealousy in their eyes. He had shot into school stardom, for awhile, with his foreign appearance and wealthy familial lineage. They had scampered to talk to him, to get him to be in their circles, to boast to others that they were close to him. But he had treated each one of them with disinterest, preferring to be alone. It was his seemingly haughty and cold nature drove people away from him. After repeated rebuffs, the girls had stopped chasing their light-haired prince; after their taunts and threats had been ignored, the boys had lost interest in their purported foe. _

_He couldn't have cared less - he had long noticed that the girls who claimed their adoration for him only did so for his attractive features and cool persona, and the boys who had noticed and taunted him (and later thought him cool) only did so because they thought him to be unfairly wealthy and handsome. None of the students that had desired to be his friend looked past any of these physical external ties of appearance, wealth, and familial status to actually uncover the boy's true personality. No one had bothered to glance past his cool and perfect surface, to uncover the genuine emotions that surged beneath his exterior. __He really had no regrets when his classmates had grown bored and tired of him. After all, though he had lost a hundred false faces, he had found and kept one genuine heart. Hiroki. His best friend, with his fierce scowl and auburn head, was the one person who had approached him with no backhanded motives or selfish intent. Hiroki had understood and accepted him, not as a perfect boy, but as a flawed human being. _

_After being used to his classmates apathy towards him, Akihiko felt a little unsettled to see this boy reach out towards him with such undisguised, unmediated kindness. It was possible that the boy was a new student, though. He had never seen or heard of him before. Turning back to the boy, he replied. _

_"Usami Akihiko."_

_The boy smiled at him, and then, to his utter shock, had begun to chuckle light-heartedly. _

_He stared, bewildered. "What is it?" _

_The boy stopped. A sheepish grin had spread across his face. "I'm sorry, Usami-san. It's just that your last name reminds me of a rabbit."_

_Akihiko stared, his mouth agape. He thought that that had been the most __preposterous thing he had ever heard - he looked to see if the boy's expression betrayed any underlying sarcasm or good humor. But glancing at those bright eyes, Akihiko was met with a refreshingly straightforward gaze. __He quickly composed himself and looked vaguely off to the side, a faint heat pounding in his cheeks. _

_The boy, upon feeling his discomfort, spoke quickly. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean any offense." There was a tentative pause, and then the boy added, "Do you want to call me something silly instead?"_

_Akihiko felt the heat in his cheeks rise. He glanced at the blue sky, seeking for relief. He didn't know that, from this day on, his chest would remain unsettled by that one, unassuming young man._

The author reached forward and poured himself a glass of pale liquid. He drily chuckled, amused at his youthful folly. Oh, he had been so naive then. Both he and Takahiro. His fingers caressed the chilled glass, as he had brought the edge to his lips. Moments later, he had drowned in the cold fire.

_"Usagi-san, Usagi-san! He sounds like a freaking parrot!" Hiroki fumed. _

_"Hmm." He turned a page, starting on the next line. Strangely, the words had started coming to him a lot easier these days. He quickly wrote down a stream of thoughts. _

_"It's so annoying! He just follows you around everywhere, like some stupid dog!" The brunet paced across the natural clearing, his brow creased and furrowed. _

___"Hmm." ___

____The boy stopped in the middle of clearing to glare at him. _____"What kind of name is Usagi-san, anyways? What are you, some type of rabbit?"_

_"Hmm." He was almost there. He just had to reach that one epiphany, and then he could finish off the rest..._

_"Akihiko!" The brunet's growl was overlaid with irritation and annoyance. _The boy stopped in the middle of clearing to glare at him. Those hazel eyes were burning embers. __

_The pencil paused for just a moment. "Hiroki. Are you sure you aren't overreacting?" He remembered Hiroki's first meeting with Takahiro the other day, and couldn't help but inwardly giggle for a bit. Yes, he was being immature, but Hiroki's reaction at that moment had been priceless._

_It had been after class, and he had walked with Takahiro towards the field. It was lunch time, and he had noticed that the sky looked exceptionally cloudless and blue. Then he had noticed a familiar brunet in the distance, who had been sitting down on a brown bench, immersed intently within his book. As he and Takahiro neared, he couldn't help but smile a little at his friend's sour expression, an almost perpetual crease between two eyebrows. _

_"Hiroki." _

_At his name, the brunet looked up, his eyes mildly softening for a second. Then they sharpened to their usual fierceness. "Akihiko. You're late."_

_"I'm sorry. I have good reason." He extended out his hand and gestured to the black-haired student that stood next to him. _

_Takahiro stepped forth, extending out his hand. "Hello, I'm Takahashi Takahiro. Usagi-san has told me a lot about you."_

_"Usagi-san?" The sienna gaze had narrowed at the nickname, and then those eyes had flickered to his best friend. _

_Takahiro continued. "Do you know what Usagi-san told me? He said that you once read two-thirds of the school library back when you were younger. Isn't that amazing? He also told me that you once stumbled across the mature section of a bookstore and accidentally read an R-rated manga, and that then you had-"_

_The brunet's gaze turned murderous. Akihiko looked away, as he felt a stare of molten magma burn through his body._

_"-Kamijou-san? Ah, forgive me for saying this, but I do think that you should smile more. Although you're known for your intimidating frown, I believe that your smile is altogether more handsome. And anyways, you could get premature wrinkles! Wouldn't that be horrible?" _

_Amber eyes widened. A mouth dropped open, then closed. Akihiko was vaguely reminded of a gaping fish. He had started laughing, uncontrollably. He was laughing so hard that his stomach hurt. _

_A loud yell interrupted his fond reminiscing. _

_"I AM NOT OVERREACTING! And wipe that stupid grin off of your face!" The brunet shouted, before stalking off. _

_Akihiko sighed, turning back towards his work. His friend had been fairly moody recently, although he had not yet understood why. Upon reaching another break in his story, Akihiko stood up and stretched, suddenly smiling as another pleasant recollection had hit him. _

_He was going to go to his house tonight. His house._

_Over the past few weeks, he had gradually gotten to know the smiling, laughing boy that had called him by his nickname. He learned that he came from a typical Japanese family, as an only child with two working parents. __Takahiro was friendly and kind to everyone, completely open and honest, and had looked at the world with such optimistic eyes that it wasn't difficult to see why he made friends so easily. He was also a hardworking and responsible young man who studied diligently, a filial son who respected his family's wishes, and most of all, a kind and good-hearted friend. _

_But more than that, he was the boy who found the things he said funny, and had uneven dimples when he laughed,__ a rich and resounding sound that echoed and spread, sometimes inviting several nearby students to join in on the conversation. He was a boy who had listened to his every word - not with the intention of referring to them later for an advantageous argument, or to carry them to other students' reaching ears, or to attempt to advise or judge him in any way. No, he had listened simply because he wanted to, as a friend and trusted confidante. He was a boy who had simply said nothing when he had looked emptily into the window next to him one day, instead reaching forward and resting a hand warmly on his arm, concern clearly reflected in his warm eyes. _

_Each day, he had found a small part of his shield slowly broken. He found that, over time, the boy had unknowingly made his way into his heart. _

Akihiko closed his eyes, a little dizzy. He vaguely heard the clinking of glasses behind him; somewhere far away he heard a coarse volley of profanities being uttered between two drunk colleagues. He paid little attention, instead focusing on the powerful sensations that coursed through his veins. His mind was high above the clouds. Upon the touch of the liquid - the cold, the heat, the strength of the concoction had slowly unravelled the tension within his mind.

Subconsciously, he fell.

_He had distinctly felt the boy's body next to him, just a few feet away. He had reached forward to touch the boy's back, which was softly moving up and down. His fingers stopped an inch away, curled, and tightened. His eyes followed those fingers, to stop at a pale exposed area of skin. The soft expanse of the boy's neck looked so tempting that he could have reached forward to-_

_No, he couldn't. Forcefully, he retracted his hand and rolled to his back, staring at the ceiling. Time ticked so slowly. The seconds passed by like hours in his mind. He wished it would go faster. He deeply hoped that dawn would come soon. _

_There was a faint rustle of blankets. He froze, his eyes wide open. There was movement in his peripheral vision. Suddenly, he had felt a warm, soft heavy weight on his stomach. __His heart had dropped. But then he had forced himself to slowly look downwards._

_He noticed a head of dark hair near his chest, and an arm was draped over his torso. __Soft and steady breaths travelled to his ears. _

_For several moments, he lay absolutely still. He desperately prayed that the boy would not wake, for he had thought that his heart, which had lay innocently beating several moments ago, was now a loud roar of blood. The pounding and the beating of his chest deafened his hearing, and he found that he could scarcely breathe. But a soft inhale and exhale near him had reminded him that he was the only one awake, and he silently thanked the heavens for that being so. _

_He felt the boy's breath tickle underneath his chin. Gradually, he closed his eyes. _

He felt so tired. His head throbbed. The pounding in his head was so painful, he needed it to go away. He reached for another cold glass, feeling its heavy weight reassuring against his fingers. The alcohol...that time...

_They were sitting in the back of the building. It was a little over the evening, the school grounds had been deserted. _

_He had watched, silently, as the boy had grasped a green bottle within his shaky fingers, pulling it forward and taking a long gulp. The bottle had been placed back to it's position on a concrete platform, upright and half-empty among three or four of its fallen brethren. Those eyes, those eyes that had always been so happy and full of life, now were blood-shot and empty. Those fingers had clutched desperately at the glass, almost breaking it. _

_"You know," the boy took another unsteady gulp, "mom always made the best rice balls. It tasted so good...but I never told her...I should have told her, I should have let her known...maybe then she wouldn't have left. I should have...tried to be a b-better son...I s-should have made my father proud. Still...it isn't fair right? It isn't fair that they should leave...I wasn't finished talking...they d-didn't listen to everything I had to say...I...I wasn't done. It's not fair, right?"_

_Amethyst eyes stared. Those lavender pools were overwhelmed, threatening to unleash a surge of pent-up emotions. _

_"They s-shouldn't have g-gone. They shouldn't have l-left. They're...they're so selfish...I wasn't even done with high school...couldn't they have w-waited? But no, t-they had to g-go. They were so damn i-impatient..d-did they want to get rid of me s-so bad? I-is it that bad that I'm their son?" __After shaky breaths, an arm had reached for the half-consumed bottle. Suddenly, an hand had gripped the wrist. _

_"Takahiro." His voice was quivering. "Stop it."_

_The boy turned to glare at him. Through all the years he had known him, he had never seen those warm brown orbs turn black with anger. "You stop it! Who are you to tell me what to do! You still have parents, you asshole! You don't know what it's like! WHY? WHY DID THEY GO? WHY DID THEY LEAVE ME? WHY AM I STILL HERE...WHY? WHY..." _

_The boy choked, suddenly unable to breathe. _

_He had crushed their bodies together, wrapping his arms around the boy's torso, burrowing his nose into his neck. He had felt the boy panting underneath him, hoarse and broken cries wracking that body beneath him. He wanted to protect him, he tried to protect him. But tears sprung in his eyes, and his voice, despite his best efforts, sounded weak and broken. __"Takahiro. I'm sorry."_

_The boy was crying, he was blubbering, his chest heaved up and down. The boy's shaking fingers had gripped onto his back, etching a touch of pain and sorrow. _

Liquid stung his throat. Liquid stung the back of his eyes. He found a sea of blurry colors all around him. Oh, they had moved on from then. Those years had passed, had erased most of the memories. But while one had moved forward, one was still left behind.

_"Usagi-san! How long has it been? I feel like I haven't seen you in ages!"_

_He smiled. "Takahiro." He watched the same boy he had known since he was fifteen, with the same cheerful smile and warm brown eyes. Time had treated the man well - those twinkling eyes were lined with only a few laughter lines, and that thin and frail body had grown to be a strong and firm one._

_He stepped forward to envelop his friend in a hug. It had been a habit of his over the recent years, as their meetings had grown scarcer and less frequent. After high school, they had both briefly separated in their education pathways. He had gone on to T University and gotten his law degree; Takahiro had begun working part-time in a pharmeceutical company. They had still kept in contact, though, and once Akihiko had moved to his current apartment, the relative distance between both men's apartments allowed him to see his friend quite frequently. But then Takahiro had gotten a work promotion and moved to the other side of Tokyo, and Akihiko grew busy when his novels had started becoming major critical successes. They were both exhausted, and could not find time or the energy to span the distance between one another. And so, over the years, they had grown more and more apart. _

_The man only laughed, patting him on the back. "My, my, Usagi-san! You haven't changed."_

_"I missed you," he replied simply, his tired body relaxing in the other man's embrace. _Yes, he had missed him so much.

_Takahiro pulled back, smiling. "Guess what? I have great news to tell you!" The man was practically glowing, his eyes were shining. "You know how it's Manami's birthday next week right?" _

His eyes squeezed shut, and his hands traced the outline of a glass rim.

_"I wanted to to surprise her-" _It sloshed. A splash. A stinging, wetness on his thigh. He was too drunk, too drunk to care.

_"-surprise her with a nicely chosen gift." _He was thirsty. But the fire couldn't quench his thirst. It burned, raw and bitter, against his throat. His head throbbed, his head ached, he felt as though it would explode.

_"I also thought about it for awhile. And then I thought it would actually be the perfect time to-" _ Why couldn't he drown out that voice? He didn't want to listen. He didn't want to listen. He held his head in his hands, closing his eyes.

_"-ask her-" _No. No. He didn't want this, he didn't want this-

_"-if she would like to-" _Hurt. His chest hurt-

_"-marry me." _His head fell forward onto the table.

His vision was seared into blackness.

**So I made Takahiro an only child because I didn't want there to be two Takahashi Misaki's (although the fact that there was already two Takahashi's never crossed my mind until I started writing this chapter...).**

**Also, many of you may be confused as to why Akihiko still isn't over Takahiro (what about all those chapters with Misaki?). So for now, just think of Akihiko as still thinking of Misaki as a robot, and not truly a human boy yet. By the way, isn't it hard to believe that all these events happened within the span of two days? It's amazing how it feels so much longer.**

**-TokyoSuite**


	13. Outside

**Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou Romantica. **

Misaki stared at the phone in his hands.

Just moments ago, he had been told that the silver-haired author lay sleeping in another location. He had heard the word "drunk" used several times, and upon asking for clarification, the person on the other end had simply told him that the author had "passed out". Upon further questioning on what "passed out" had meant, the voice, sounding truly exasperated, had told him that the man was currently sitting on a barstool, his head facedown on a wooden table surface, his body slumped over, and his head still.

Then the voice on the other end had told him to write down a string of numbers and letters on a slip of paper, and to come quickly because they were closing soon. When the line clicked shut, Misaki stared at his handwriting. He could not understand how a combination of symbols held the key to where the author currently was, but he supposed he could try to find out.

He placed the phone back on its stand, before turning towards the door. His feet had brought him across the entry way and his hand had reached forward to pull the door as close as he could without locking it. He proceeded down a familiar hallway and stopped when he had reached an intersection. In front of him was the gated area where he had recycled the cardboard box. To his left and right were two separate and distinct pathways.

Suddenly, he heard laughter. Coming into view, from the right hallway, was a man in a formal suit and a woman wearing a feathered hat and white gloves. Lips covered with a dark red dye were currently open wide, revealing a set of pearly white teeth. Black leather shoes and white high heels walked on by, their steps making a slight curve around the boy as they continued their path into the left hallway.

He contemplated for a brief moment, before taking the path in which the two individuals had come from.

His feet followed the carpeted course before they stopped at two silver structures that had been built into the wall. Above each silver vertical platform were a series of round buttons. Currently, all of the buttons were dark except for two bright ones. Misaki watched as one of the bright circles flickered off, to spark the next circle to light up and flicker off, and so on. He saw the bright circle travel sideways towards the left and finally light up the last unlit button.

Looking down, he noticed noticed two additional unlit buttons. These were planted between the silver structures and drawn on them were opposite facing triangles. Intrigued, he reached forward to touch one of those buttons. To his surprise, his finger sank in and the round circle lit up. His eyes were then drawn to the moving light above. Slowly, the light that had stayed on the leftmost circle had started to move right once more. He had observed the progression with curiosity, wondering whether his action had anything to do with the resulting reversal of the light's direction.

He had a start. A loud _ding_ had sounded from above. He took a step backwards upon hearing a low rumble. One of the silver structures in front of him had split open, its two halves gradually spreading across to reveal a slightly spacious cavern within. He wondered whether it was safe to step inside...after all, who knew how long people stayed in that silver room before being allowed to leave? But when those two halves had grown impatient and started to close, Misaki had quickly darted inside.

Inside, his eyes widened upon seeing _another _set of unlit buttons. They were labelled with numbers from one to twenty-seven, in order from bottom to top. Then he had looked up and seen the same horizontal row of circles, almost all in their unlit glory except for one, and had almost groaned. But wait - the one lit circle was currently on the highest number. Twenty-seven. Was this some sort of instruction? He glanced back down on the array of buttons in front of him and reached forward to press the button that read that number...only to see, through spreading silver walls, the hallway where he had just come from.

He pondered for a moment. So if twenty-seven lead to the same place, where did the numbers one through twenty-six lead to? He reached forward to touch the button next to the one he had just pressed.

With a rumbling start, the structure slid shut. He felt a jolt. His heart thudded and his eyes closed. He felt as though he were falling. But it was only a few seconds. With a groan, the machine slowly opened once more. He looked up. The hallway in front of him was nearly identical to the one he had just come from - the only exception had been the different pattern on the carpet. He pressed the button after that. Twenty-five...twenty-four...twenty-three...each time he pressed a lower number the machine would fall a bit, rumble open to show a different carpeted corridor, and then, with a low mumble, close.

Growing impatient, he had skipped all intermediaries and aimed straight for the first button. As the machine began to fall, his mind began to pierce together some of his observations. Looking at the moving circles, everything began to make sense. Each bright circle unlocked one area and as the circle travelled downward, he was actually descending levels.

As the silver wall broke apart once more, his eyes were met with completely new surroundings. There were bright lights that covered a spacious floor and an open area that was modestly decorated with two couches and a table. When he had glanced to the side, he noticed a large desk that had taken up a space next to the left wall. Behind the desk sat a young woman, who was currently reading some of the papers on the desk.

He stepped off the silver transportation device and approached the woman. For some reason, she seemed like she would be knowledgeable in decoding what he had written down. When he had stopped in front of the desk, the woman looked up. Upon seeing him, she smiled. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Green eyes blinked relieved. So the woman could help him. He pulled the piece of paper he held in his pocket, and placed it on the counter. "Yes. Can you tell me where this is?"

The woman stared at the piece of paper, before looking at him. "You want to know how to get there?"

"Yes."

The woman silently read. "I think this is nearby, actually. There's a shopping district near here, and it looks like...hold on-" Turning to her computer, she had quickly typed in something, before turning back to the boy. "It's a high-end restaurant and bar that's located downtown, called La Blue. I'm afraid it's more than a few blocks away, though. It looks like you'll have to take the subway or a cab."

Green eyes flickered down. "What's a cab?"

The woman stared at him oddly. After a few moments of silence, she spoke. "You really don't know what a cab is?"

Misaki furrowed his eyebrows, confused. Why had the woman asked him that question? Hadn't he just asked that? He really needed to know the answer to his question. Besides that, the woman's expression bothered him. There was a certain doubt and distrust reflected in those eyes, a turn from the warmth and gentleness that he had seen in them earlier. He glanced upwards when he replied solemnly.

"No."

The receptionist was speechless. Although she was about to open her mouth to scoff at the teenager's claim, something about the boy's eyes stopped her. Those orbs looked so openly innocent and vulnerable that, although she couldn't understand why, she found herself believing him.

But if what he said was true, the woman wondered how in the world this boy had managed to survive on his own up till this day. She peered at him closely. Was he perhaps the son of a tribal village leader whose clan was located in the mountains far from civilization? No, no. That was in the Japanese feudal times, way out of modern day context. Maybe he was a Japanese-American who was currently studying here? Well, it could be possible...albeit strange. Although the boy's Japanese accent was flawless, his vocabulary was severely limited, almost like the vocabulary of a child. Was he...mentally disabled then? Her mind had swirled with a plethora of possibilities.

Her eyes glanced back up at the boy, who had been waiting patiently with his head tilted to the side. Sighing, she reached forward and grabbed a pen. "Do you know what a car looks like?"

The boy nodded eagerly. "It's a rectangular box-like structure with four round spheres underneath. People use it for transportation."

Although the receptionist was a bit weirded out by the boy's enthusiasm and strange description, she concluded that the boy ultimately understood what she was talking about. "A cab is basically the same as a car, only it's usually yellow with a small sign at the top." Quickly, she doodled a car and handed it to the boy. "If you see one of these vehicles, raise your hand and beckon. The cab will pull over and stop, and then you can get in. Once inside, hand this slip of paper to the driver and he should be able to deliver you there."

The boy regarded the drawing, internally visualizing this drawn yellow car. Once he was certain he had imagined it well, he turned to the woman in front of her and bowed. "Thank you."

The woman, slightly taken aback by the simple and wholehearted gesture, only nodded in reply. As she saw his figure move across the lobby, though, she noticed something odd. She quickly stood up. "Wait!"

The boy turned around.

"You're not...wearing any shoes."

Misaki glanced down. He saw his naked feet against the floor and wondered why the woman had made such a deal out of it. He really hadn't felt any reason to wear shoes - although the hallway carpet felt stiff and firm, it felt almost nice; though the tiled floors felt cold, they felt refreshing to his skin.

"It doesn't feel uncomfortable," he admitted to himself.

But then he had remembered the gentleman and lady from earlier. Both of them wore shoes when they walked down the carpeted hallway. Thinking back to this morning, he also remembered the author putting on his leather shoes before he exited the suite. Was it true then, that shoes needed to be worn outside at all times? As he pondered, he glanced back at the woman behind the desk.

The receptionist currently had disappeared underneath the table. She emerged several seconds later. "I found it!" She stood up. As the woman drew nearer, Misaki could see that she held something in her hands. When she stopped in front of him, she smiled.

"These are my old flip flops. I usually keep a pair of these under my table because, well, it's uncomfortable working in pumps sometimes. These particular ones were originally for a friend. They're two sizes too big for me anyways, which is why I think it might fit you." Two brown, elongated ovals dropped onto the ground.

Upon seeing the boy's puzzled expression, she explained. "You stick your big toe on the left of this strap, and the rest go to the right."

"Oh." Misaki moved his right foot forward. His heel had come in contact with the flat sole of the shoe, and he moved his toes forward so that the strap rested between them. It felt strange to be wearing a type of shoe only consisted of a flat surface and an upward protrusion of a V-shaped leather band, but the openness and freedom he felt while wearing the shoe made it feel quite nice. He smiled at the woman. "Thank you."

"Oh, no problem!" The woman blushed from the compliment. She looked warmly at him. "Please go safely."

He nodded. "I will."

The boy had looked towards the window, a flicker of urgency reflected in his eyes. Then he turned and walked towards towards the main entrance.

As the receptionist watched the boy disappear from the lobby, she couldn't help but frown. For some reason, she had a bad feeling about this.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

His hand reached towards the transparent glass. He stepped outside.

It was dark, and yet he was blinded.

There were lights everywhere.

Movement.

A mesh of yellows, reds, and greens blurred in a background of black.

Laughing, voices.

Jean-clad, short-clad, bare legs moving in every direction.

Faces within a crowd. Loud voices talking. Chatter, chatter.

A roar. A purr. The screech of wheels touching the ground.

The smell of cold.

He felt overwhelmed.

So this was the outside world.

For a few moments, the boy stood on the corner of the intersection, trying to take in his bearings.

He currently stood outside a tall building. In front of him was a constantly moving river of light and sound. There were machines, of all shapes and colors, rumbling and growling, hissing and squealing along the pavement. People sat inside those machines, gripping a half-circle, looking impatiently in front of them. Bright tricolor signals were stationed above the convergence of four roads.

His eyes had been drawn immediately to a yellow car, with a small rectangular bump jutting out at the top. Running forward, he had stretched his arm out.

The machine had taken a wide arc along the road, rumbling towards him. It had neared the platform of grey he currently stood on, and stalled. The machine had exposed its side to him, on which an outline of black had been etched. There were two handles that appeared in two outlined rectangles. In the front was a silhouette of a man. Stepping forward, he had pulled on the back handle. He slid into a leather seat.

A low, guttural voice sounded from the front seat.

"Where to, kid?"

Misaki reached forward and handed the man the slip of paper he held in his hands. "Here, please."

"La Blue Bar?" Eyes regarded him from the rearview mirror.

"Yes."

The driver coughed and pulled from the curve, his eyes observing his passenger with interest. He had pulled over upon seeing a boy standing in the middle of a busy intersection, a little past midnight, in a T-shirt and cargo shorts. After the boy had handed him the address, he had quietly settled down in the back. But as the car had begun moving, the boy had shifted to the edge of the leather seat, his face almost plastered to the glass, his eyes transfixed on what was outside. The boy, who could not have been older than eighteen, had an expression of such wonder and amazement that the cab driver almost doubted he had seen a taxi before. But that idea was simply inconceivable, because the boy was in the middle of one of the largest cities in the world.

Such a boy didn't belong to a place like La Blue Bar.

He knew what sort of customers that upscale bar had, because he had taken many who went there. The men were mostly in their mid-thirties, forties, and fifties - businessmen with expensive suits and gold watches, who sneered into their cell phones and always filled the car with cigarette smoke. The women were either young or old, they wore expensive turquoise neckpieces and brooches pinned on their lapels, had immaculate coifs of hair and carried with them a sharp scent of perfume, and always rummaged through their several-thousand dollar purses for their pocket mirrors.

Yes, it was strange indeed to see such an innocent and common boy attend a destination for the filthy and rich.

When the car had reached the curb and stopped, the boy looked at him gratefully. "Thank you." A hand had reached to turn the door handle.

"Hey, kid! You haven't paid."

The boy stilled. "Paid?" Misaki stared at the man in front of him.

The man chuckled tightly. "Don't tell me you don't have money on you. If you're going to an establishment like La Blue, this should be pocket change!"

Misaki couldn't understand what the man was saying. He tried to clarify. "So you want me to give you pocket change?"

The man's eyes narrowed. "Kid, are you playing with me?"

Misaki stared, confused. "What?"

"Do you not have the money," the man spoke, his voice dangerously low.

Money? Yes, he knew what that was. Those were different bills with various faces imprinted on them. But currently, he had none. Green eyes flickered down nervously. "I don't have any money on me right now." But then, those emerald orbs had brightened. He looked up. "Wait! If you let me go inside, I might be able to find some for you."

The driver stared at him. "Are you meeting someone?"

The boy nodded. "I think he might have it. But first, will you let me go inside?"

After a moment's deliberation, the man growled. "Hurry up. You'd better come back, or else..." those words trailed off ominously.

Quickly, a pale hand unlatched the door. Within moments, the boy had walked across the expanse of concrete and approached the glass door. He pulled on the elegant handle and stepped inside.

Closing his eyes, Misaki desperately prayed that he would be able to find him in time.

**Dun, dun, dun! **

**AMSwafford92 - Your conversation is hilarious! ****Misaki and cheese graters...what an odd couple. ****Hmm. You are quite right. Aikawa will give him a bit of a scolding later on...but for now, Misaki has to deal with a drunk Akihiko.**

**darkhuntressxir - Oh, haha. Yeah, I can understand why you got confused! As for Misaki, can we all have one of him? XD**

**8GreenMoon - Thank you for enjoying all of my chapters. I am happy to write these, and I'm glad that you love reading them. As for updating faster, I will do my best. **

**dirtylittlefreak - I know, I know, I was mean. XD ****But you'll be satisfied when you read the next chapters! I'm glad that you like my fast updates!**

**Thank you so much to everyone who has subscribed, favorited, or reviewed my story. It gives me great pleasure to know all of you enjoy reading my writing.**

**-TokyoSuite**


	14. Time

**Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou Romantica.**

**Note: It's been a million years since I've last updated. Although I do write fairly quickly when I am inspired, these few weeks have left me rewriting and rewriting and rewriting (and chopping and chopping). So I apologize to all of you who have been waiting so patiently to see what happens next. Hopefully, I will be able to release the next few chapters at a faster pace. **

Misaki was curled in a chair, his head on an armrest.

In dim lighting, his eyes made out a mold of white on top of the bed. Underneath the thin sheets was a long, slumbering form. Darkness caressed alabaster skin, highlighting the hollow curve of a cheekbone and the firm line of a supple mouth. The shadow followed a tendon of marbled flesh, to meld onto an expanse of broad shoulders. A naked chest rose and fell, to coincide with a barely audible breath.

White clung to the edge. It descended to the floor. The ground was dotted with black piles of clothing. A loosened tie, a single sock, a heap of rumpled cloth.

On the wall, a clock counted time.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

He closed his eyes. The clock hand slowly reversed.

He stood in front of a marbled counter. His fingers grasped a piece of folded leather, and he watched the woman in front of him press a rapid succession of grey squares. With one last click, a slender hand retrieved a metallic card and slid it across a smooth surface.

"Here's your room, sir. Eighth floor, on your right."

"Thank you."

He picked up the card, tucking it inside one of the leather folds. Running his fingers through its veined outside, he couldn't help but feel awed at the sheer amount of power contained within this black hollow.

He had first encountered this square of black while probing the author's pockets. Turning it over in his hands, he had initially dismissed it as being small and useless. But when he had reached inside the fold, he had unexpectedly felt something thin and papery. Pulling out his hand, he had found a pale green block stuck between his fingers. The wedge fanned out into separate notes, each which had an inscribed insignia and pattern.

With that stack of notes, he had earned a grunt of appreciation from the driver.

Furthermore, the piece of leather had additional slits which held a wide variety of gold, silver and black cards. Each of those cards had etched codes on the front and a silver band at the back.

With one of those rectangular shapes, he had received an opportunity to rest for a night.

Experiencing these two phenomena, he did not doubt that what he held in his hands was truly magical.

Turning, he had left the lobby and returned to the bar. Upon entering, he noticed a tangy sharpness that lingered in the air. Around him appeared refined, clean edges of crisp leather skins and glass surfaces. An aura of lights - green, purple, pink, blue – diffused through a tangle of smoke.

Across the room was one occupied bar stool.

An outline of a back. As he stepped closer, he could see a crown of lustrous grey. A few strands barely graced the transparent surface. Wine-soaked lips parted, and a breath dispelled the silence. The man's shoulders rolled upwards. A second later, they had fallen down once more.

Entranced, the boy pulled himself onto the next seat.

He observed the cycle that unfolded before him. The man's breath, a steady and deep exhale, came on regular intervals. Following the low whoosh of sound was a movement of the torso, a slow expansion and contraction of the chest. After each breath, the whole body would remain still. Then, as if a chord had been struck, those sensual lips would part and the cycle would resume. While his ears heard this bare melody, his eyes studied the man's side profile.

He covered every inch of skin – from the hard plane of the man's forehead, to the strong line of the man's jaw; from the delicate arc that spanned between, to the veined area of skin that covered those closed eyes. Like a statue, the man appeared to be carved in the flesh, out of stone. But then a sudden surge rippled across those pale features.

Impassivity broke.

Lines formed, like faults, ridging the smooth skin. Tendons grew taut, to leave in their wake a tightened jaw and a hardened mouth. Eyes moved madly underneath the fragile fold of skin, and those stained lips quivered. A strangled whisper hung in the air.

"Taka…hiro."

Misaki stopped. A slow ache had struck him, unfurling and expanding within. The ache intensified, sharpening into a single infliction. It sliced through his chest, pierced his flesh, inflamed his heart.

Cut and scarred.

He couldn't understand what caused the man to look so pained by mentioning a boy's name. Why? Four syllables seemed to cause a man to break.

But even more than that, he couldn't understand why he had felt a bit broken himself.

Confused, he could only stare as those pale wisps fluttered, revealing a gaze of drowsy lavender. He tried to speak. "Um…I…we should be going."

Mauve, cloudy and muddled, fixated on him. Then the heavy fog in those eyes, heartbeat by heartbeat, dissipated. He was met with irises of stunning clarity. For several moments, the two stared at one another, one empty glass between them.

Then, black satin crinkled as an arm reached forward.

Lips, supple and firm, crashed onto his own.

His world was reduced to one point – the soft, velvety texture that came from a wine-drowsed lip. He contemplated its flavor: a stark bittersweetness that held a spicy afterthought. Every collision, movement, and turn was a slow and simmering burn the sensitive flesh of his lips. Full red flesh meshed, turned, sucked and bit in passion and fury. Tongues rolled in flames.

Long, artistic fingers had grasped the back of his neck, allowing their foreheads, necks and lips to lock into a more intimate position. All reason was snuffed, as he felt his mouth being ravished completely. There was no doubt on the finesse of the author's tongue. It had enticed and drawn out all tempted surfaces in his moist orifice, rendering his defense powerless. With every turn and attack, his mind grew hazier and hazier.

He was suffocating, in need of air. But he couldn't help but indulge himself in the author's taste, if only for one more turn. He felt himself being pushed back, driven by the author's overwhelming hunger. It was only when he felt an edged protrusion come into contact with his back, that his mind had been jarred into some rational sense.

He pushed, and was rewarded with a leniency. With the aid of the unexpected, Misaki had managed to slip through an opening.

The holder's violet eyes darkened, upon feeling the absence of the boy. He stared in displeasure and resolved to take the boy back. Standing up, he reached forward. That slender waist, a few feet away, simply begged to be touched…

Misaki shot forward and caught the falling body. Cautiously, he wrapped his right arm around the man's vested torso and maneuvered his body so that he was underneath the man's left shoulder. Once he had been certain that the author was safe, he tried to figure out a way to travel across the room. It was unfortunate that the man's heaviness had thwarted his initial attempts to move both of them forward.

"Hmmmm…."

He felt a low vibration reverberate just above him. A half-breath later, he felt a whisper grace his neck. The whisper landed on his skin, and a sensuous mouth lay a trail of kisses down to his collar bone. Beautiful hands were on his chin, tilting it upwards so that lips would join in perfect communion.

Closing his eyes, Misaki was almost contented just to stand there, in the author's arms. But he knew he couldn't. If he didn't find a way to move the both of them upstairs, neither would be able to sleep tonight.

So he bristled – swatting those hands away, shying from those wanting lips.

"Stop it!" he cried.

The accused perpetrator, however, paid no regards to the warning. Lips continued their path, and fingers continued their teasing.

Gritting his teeth, he moved forward, trying to drag the deadweight that had draped itself over his shoulders. Many heavy strides, several red neck marks, and one long stretch of carpet later, the boy had managed to arrive in front of a set of silver doors, much like the one he had seen in the author's place. He jabbed his finger at the upper arrow, casting an upward glance at the row of lighting circles and ignoring the dip of head that had settled itself so comfortably at the nook of his neck.

The silver doors opened, and Misaki maneuvered them inside. Marble walls were ellipsed by metal plates, and the lobby had disappeared.

The cool seconds that elapsed allowed the boy to rest, and he flattened his back on the vertical walls. The heavy body above him had fallen into a temporary repose, and ceased to cause much commotion, other than to release an occasional breathy sigh.

When a carpeted hallway had appeared, he exited the metal closet, tugging the heavy burden behind him. The poor boy had a long fight in front of him. As he dragged and pulled, he was nibbled and sucked. As he gave protests of annoyance and frustration, he was given a deep growl of warning and promptly silenced with a searing kiss. A few more casualties had been added to his existing number of bruises along his neck.

He would have opened his mouth to give the offender a verbal lashing, if not for his current state of exhaustion. Instead, he breathed a sigh of relief upon finally finding their room. Now, he simply had to find the device at which to open it.

He struggled out of the cage of black satin. After much arm movement and mild annoyance, he had finally managed to locate the card. But when a wet tongue touched his ear, his fingers fumbled, and the innocent piece of plastic tumbled towards the ground. Fingers clenched, he bent down to retrieve the piece of plastic.

The boy balled his fists and whirled around.

In a split-second, his back was slammed against the back door.

A vice-like grip had bound two of his arms above his head, and a mouth swooped in for attack. A blaze ignited in his lips, and he was soon immersed in the fire of passion. The heat and burn had begun to devour and consume him, until he grew lightheaded and unsteady. Only the anchor of those arms held him fast – else he be utterly swept away.

Somewhere in his periphery, he began to feel a vague, popping sensation. In the next moment, he let out an involuntary shiver as he felt a cool breeze stroke his torso. Cloth lightly scraped across his skin, sliding past skin, to stay precariously off one shoulder. That seductive mouth had left his own, biting and sucking a burning path down to his taut stomach.

His abdomen, completely exposed, suddenly made him feel self conscious. He turned his head to the side, feeling a faint burn on his cheeks. He moved to push the silver head away from his torso.

He turned a hundred and eighty degrees.

Cold hands had embraced him from behind, impressed on the flushed expanse of his exposed skin.

His fingers moved, remembering the card.

A hot puff of air tickled his ear, and a moistened tongue slicked the curve along his neck. Those hands travelled downwards, drifting towards the boundary between bare torso and leather strip.

A horizontal slit, on a panel of metal.

The pressure had travelled downwards, and those fingers had found the clothed area just between his legs, and had squeezed the organ that lay just beneath.

Plastic scraped against metal, as a lithe body convulsed.

**TokyoSuite, how can you be so mean? Leaving us readers on yet another cliffhanger (this time, of the smut-variety). ****  
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**I know, I know. Please forgive her for yet another rather abrupt ending - she promises she will fulfill the smut scene in the next chapter!  
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**Edit: In my haste to publish, I realize I forgot to acknowledge a few reviewers: Witch19, **AMSwafford92, **dirtylittlefreak, **zeke899, **darkhuntressxir. Sorry about that! Anyways, ********************I have added my thoughts on your wonderful comments. **********

**Everlasting Snow Princess - Yes, I am worried for him as well. He's so unintentionally innocent, but his unawareness in the real world is what makes his perspective so new and, at times, unintentionally hilarious. **

**Rejean - Yes, he should. Hurry up Misaki! -pushes him towards Akihiko-**

**Cerberus - Your bringing up some of my inconsistencies has allowed me to reflect a little bit on my story so far. **

**I think your analogy of the "car" vs. "cab" and your conception of "basic" and "complex" is fairly accurate to explaining Misaki's intellectual capabilities. Misaki has some preprogrammed knowledge, and does have very limited, "dictionary definitions" of certain items. For instance, he may know what money is (paper that has pictures of people), but he doesn't know what it's used for; he knows what a rabbit looks like and can associate some characteristics with that animal (two ears, white, soft, etc), but not other characteristics (cute, hyper, naughty). There are other items that he has no prior knowledge of whatsoever (shower, plates, phone, etc). **

**As for his reading - Misaki is fundamentally able to "read". But by reading, I mean that he is able to spell out the characters in his head and say them out loud. However, as to actually understanding what he is reading, is another story. As I have mentioned, Misaki's vocabulary is rather limited, so although he will be able to "read" everything on the page, he would probably be only able to, as of now, understand a few words or phrases. So I suppose he technically isn't reading for that scene, but mostly taking in the pictures. **

**You please me once more with your reviews! I am absolutely thrilled whenever you quote certain lines out of a passage, and tell me you interpretations of them. I myself am guilty of neglecting to review your stories for so long - I shall catch up soon!**

**MickeyandMouse - I agree that the 13th chapter seemed a little dry, mostly due to the slowness at which I explored Misaki's fascination with elevators and taxis. That's why I hope that this chapter will make up for it!**

**Gothgam08 - I am glad that you liked my story. **

**I have watched Absolute Boyfriend, and the story premise is really quite similar to this one (human meets robot, both fall in love). But despite these similarities, ****I can assure you that this story is not based off of the original manga or the drama adaptation. It is actually ****based on a secret desire of mine to portray Misaki as a robot - and two write about the hilarity that would ensue. But if you liked the series, then I have no doubt that you would like this one.**

**Witch19 - Thank you! I hope to update faster from now on.**

**AMSwafford92 - Misaki is a robot, but he was created to have the body of a teenage boy - in other words, intentionally made to be "weak". His creators thought that this would make him more human. Tantalizing indeed.**

**dirtylittlefreak - -Blushes- Thank you for telling me that! I'm very honored to know that my fiction is one of your favorite JJR fan fictions, and that you think of my writing so highly. **

**zeke899 - XD. Yay! **

**darkhuntressxir - Akihiko...I'm still wondering what his expression will be when he wakes up...surprised? Angry? I guess I'll just have to see!**


	15. Halves

****Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou Romantica.****

Misaki panted, his legs trembling. A vibration quivered just below his stomach, one that had sent a spasm through his muscles. He instinctively bucked his hips, splaying his hands across the door. His body leaned forward, reeling from his heightened senses.

The odd sensation that gathered below felt like a constant throbbing, a heat spread between his legs. It burned like an ache, one that filled his flesh with want and need.

An ache that needed to be satisfied.

A warm breath blew on his neck, and those large hands retracted. They travelled upwards, touching the smooth expanse of his taut abdomen. The burning, throbbing heat had ceased temporarily, replaced with a few smoldering strokes.

Between breaths, his quivering fingers found the metal opening once more, and rammed the card inside.

He vaguely heard a beep, followed by a click.

But he was too preoccupied to react.

Hands discovered a point of pleasure his upper chest. A pinch captured the pointed protrusion. Fingers pressed against the sensitive nub, producing a persistent friction, and the blood underneath pounded and pulsated. His lips parted, a silent cry escaping from them.

His hands felt distractedly for the handle. He pulled. The door swung open.

His breath was stolen from him. Soft velvet enveloped his lips, and a moist tongue entered his warm cavern. Curved crescents melded, pressed, sucked in tandem. Without breaking contact, he reached above to hold onto that neck.

The body behind him shifted to accommodate, moving forward. The ground swayed underneath him, as he retreated backwards. Two bodies, shrouded in passion, stumbled inside. Eyes clouded by desire, he barely noticed the door close. A slit of light narrowed into nothingness, and he felt himself surrounded by a swathe of darkness.

Green orbs closed, their function unneeded in the blackness.

His back hit a wall, and a hot and breathy mouth hovered above him. There was a whiff of dark spice, luscious and black. An astringent aftertaste.

It was intoxicating.

A rough tongue descended, explored the taste of his skin. Sinful lips caressed the flesh between his shoulders. A loosened collar slid off. A flutter of fabric fell to the floor.

Lips descended.

He gasped.

A hot mouth had latched on to one of the buds, sucking the tightening tit. A tongue swirled the tip while fingers played with its opposite. He felt heat trickle towards his stomach. Heat pooled in the pit, and the ache started once more.

The mouth had grown feisty and impatient. It wanted to mark its territory. A clash of teeth.

He hissed.

The bite set his nerves on fire, and boiled his blood. The heat in his veins travelled downward, settling on the crook between his legs. He stood unsteadily.

A heated growl sounded on his skin.

Sensuous lips released the first nub, to explore the second. A moist orifice surrounded the hardened vestige, ravishing the point into oblivion. He shivered, as he felt the tortured bud's release from the confines of the man's hot mouth.

Cool air washed the over-sensitive area. The bud perked, unused to the tongue's absence.

He groaned.

Those sinful lips travelled downward.

They outlined the flat plane of his torso, lingering on the small of his waist and the smooth patch of skin on his lower belly. A hot breath graced the edge of his lower clothing, to stay between his hips. Then, a head moved. Lips mouthed his flesh through stiff material.

"A-ah!"

His hips snapped forward.

The clothed organ brushed the man's mouth.

His toes curled, his eyes squeezed shut. He felt blood rush downwards, to heat and thicken at its destination. It left him airy-headed and wobbly.

Hands grasped his hips, steadying him.

There was a clinking noise.

A metal catch separated. The leather band slid through loops, circumnavigated his waist, and fell to the floor. A button undone; silver teeth pulled apart. Those hands reach forward to grasp a swollen outgrowth, sheathed by black elastic. The round hollow of a trunk crumpled to the ground.

A sharp inhalation. Hands shot forward to grasp the man's shoulders. His fingers tightened.

A stroke on a bulge rendered him unable to move. A drop absorbed into soft cotton. The moisture spread; a wet flower bloomed. He stood there, his limbs quivering.

"Ah!"

Semi-soaked black material was peeled off, and discarded. Springing free, the previously resting piece of flesh was gorged with blood. Lips wrapped around the shaft, taking in the tip of the erect length.

He thrust forward, his length brushing the warmth of a mouth.

He leaned his head back in ecstasy.

Hot and wet sounds resonated from below, as the mouth continued to move back and forth. Cheeks hollowed and expanded. Pale fingers stroked the base of a stiff length.

The pleasure overwhelmed him. It drove him half-delirious.

With a pop, the mouth let go of the reddened tip. After a breath, lips returned to devour the hardened flesh. A tongue ran along the underlying vein, licking and tasting all the way to the base.

Lips engulfed him one last time.

With a shudder, he came undone.

A liquid coursed through his length, spurting a sticky substance into a hot cavern. The strength of his subsequent peaks wracked through his small body, as his thighs quivered from the exertion. When the last drop had been spent, his knees nearly gave way.

A silver head ascended, and an arm held him. He swayed and stilled. Molded against a strong chest, his frantic heartbeat had slowed.

A satisfied purr sounded in his ear.

Long fingers caressed the spine of his back, travelling lower and lower. Upon reaching its destination, the hands grasped a curvature of flesh. Strong arms lifted him.

Startled, his hands instinctively reached out to hold onto the man's shoulders.

The ground spun dizzily, as he felt himself being hoisted up.

Inches off the ground, he automatically wrapped his legs around the vested waist, and buried his head in the crook of a neck. He breathed in the scent of musk and spice.

Long strides. His world shook, but he was unafraid. It was safe, it was alright.

The movement stopped.

He found himself falling.

Into a sheet of white.

Lying there, he looked up.

Soft lavender darkened into violet.

Long, elegant fingers grasped a black tie.

Unfastened, the slip of silk slipped onto the floor.

Midnight slipped off broad shoulders, to pool on the ground.

One by one, each button was separated. White was gone.

Only the paleness, of his alabaster skin remained.

There, was a sculpted torso. A prime physique.

His heart pounded relentlessly.

A long black serpent fell.

It's metallic head,

Snuffed by carpet and of,

A heavy-weighted black material.

Lips descended on ivory skin, to whisper a trail of kisses.

Down, down, down, at the awakened arousal. A sweet ache.

The flush of a hardened desire, and a subsequent flush of a sweet cheek.

Heat against heat. Hips moved as one. Limbs entangled,

A point of transgressed, to no return.

Burned into nothingness.


	16. Awakened

**Everyone, after an almost 2-year hiatus, I am back to write another chapter. I deeply apologize to all the readers such a long wait. I cannot guarantee that I'll publish chapters on a more regular basis, but I will say that I will do my best. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou Romantica.**

It felt soft, luxurious. Smooth. Completely decadent. The plush covers wrapped around his skin snugly, coolly. His body wanted to stay for a few more hours within the folds of white. But while his body revelled in the feel of cool fabric on his skin, his head still throbbed from last night.

He opened one, sleepy, amethyst eye to survey his surroundings.

Tan-colored curtains. A diagonally-placed pillow on a fancy couch. More or less a high-class hotel room. He must have stayed overnight, and judging from his current absence of memory, he must have fallen into a drunken stupor sometime in the evening. It wasn't that uncommon – after all, he had occasionally frequented bars after a long, tedious stretch of writer's block, or after one of those annoying award ceremonies that Aikawa had forced him into attending, where he had to plaster on a winning smile for the audience of swooning female fans.

And yet, there was something different about this morning. It was something that bothered him.

There was a sticky residue that had coated one specific organ that he had no recollection of ever using last night. Moreover, there was a slight ache that throbbed from his lower body, a sensation that gave evidence to sexually exerting himself somewhere within the last twelve hours. It had been so long that he had woken up to this specific sensation that he could scarcely make heads out of it.

He glanced at space beside him. It was empty – nothing lay in those tangled sheets.

Did he cause all of this himself?

He threw off the covers. His clothes lay scattered haphazardly on the floor. After throwing on his clothes, he grabbed the phone and dialed home. First, he needed to make sure Misaki was safe. Though he had been gone for less than a full day, who knew what the boy had been up to by now?

As the dial tone rang, Akihiko found himself silently praying.

Please. No fires. No floods. No electrical shocks. No injuries. No broken bones. No poisonous chemicals. And please, dear God, let him not go outside.

He felt himself increasingly impatient as the ringing continued. Why wasn't he answering?

It was then that Akihiko realized his stupidity. Of course Misaki wouldn't answer. The boy had probably never saw a phone in his life, nor heard one, for that matter. But wait… Akihiko's brow furrowed. Somehow, he had a feeling that Misaki wasn't at his apartment last night.

His heart nearly stopped. What if the boy was wandering around the streets, completely lost? Misaki had never experienced the outside world. He didn't even know how to use a sidewalk! He didn't know not to trust strangers. What if he followed someone else home? A swarm of possibilities, each successively worse, clouded the author's head.

The author made a mental note to purchase a cell phone for the boy, as soon as he had found him.

He quickly found his wallet, on the coffee table. He paused. A strip of crumpled paper lay beside the piece of leather. Upon unfurling the paper, he saw the address of the bar he stood at, written in unfamiliar handwriting.

So, someone had helped him to this room last night. Someone he might have…

He shook his head. No, this wasn't important. He had to find Misaki. If Misaki was hurt or injured…

The author closed his eyes. Why did he choose last night, of all times, to act irresponsibly? Moreover, did he have to indulge to that extent? The author admitted that he had a pretty impressive liquor tolerance. Yet, he also knew that even he had limits. And last night was most definitely an occasion where he had exceeded those limits.

Still, it was odd that he had no memories of that incident.

Akihiko grabbed his tuxedo jacket. He was determined to find the young boy, before he had gotten himself into too much trouble. Yet, as soon as he had opened the door, he had discovered that was completely unnecessary.

The chestnut-haired boy was curled up beside his door, fast asleep. Beside him was a plastic bag, which appeared to contain several take-out boxes. The boy's body curled around the plastic bag protectively, as if guarding the contents.

What was Misaki doing here?

Akihiko stood at the doorway. He squeezed his eyes shut. Bits and pieces of memories were beginning to surface. The thump of two bodies on the doorframe. The clatter of the hotel key. The faintest scent of vanilla. Nestling his face in that delicous neck. The softness of those brown locks, that hair he had buried his hands in. The quiver of the petite body underneath him. The high-pitched squeal of surprise, when he had unbuttoned that shirt; the moan that had escaped those pert lips when he had slipped his hands underneath those trousers.

No. When he had hungrily devoured the white expanse of skin on his torso. No. The widening of green eyes. No. The low growl that had escaped his lips, that had combined with soft, desperate pants. No. His lust-filled hands, which had roamed every nook of the boy's body. No. The tactile sensation of electricity that had jolted him. No. The tears that had begun to form underneath those beautiful eyelashes. No. The sighs of pleasure that had finally erupted from the body below him. No. The hips that had buckled beneath his own. No.

No.

No.

The author quietly closed the door and retreated in his room, feeling simultaneously angry and disgusted with himself. How could he do this? He had tained Misaki's innocence. Innocence?

He started laughing. What innocence did Misaki have? For Christ sake, he was a robot.

The author buried his head in his hands.

He must be going crazy. Yes, he must be crazy.

To have done this. He must have been out of his mind.

No, it was simple. He must have confused Misaki with Takahiro. It was a perfectly logical explanation. He was drunk. Misaki had merely been a substitute. Those caresses, those kisses, they had all been manifestations of his inner frustrations onto the wrong person. They were the result of the years he had spent depriving himself of emotional vulnerability and physical satisfaction. He had merely reached the limit, that was all.

But Akihiko knew himself that this was not true.

He knew that he was, at least on some emotional level, attracted to Misaki. That artificial heart, made up lifeless material, had moved him.

And that's what scared him the most.

No, he couldn't. He _wouldn't_. He wouldn't let himself fall in love with the android.

Yes. It was as simple as that. Akihiko remembered Aikawa's advice. He only had thirty days with the boy – two of which had already passed. As long as he had kept the boy at an arms-length until the submission deadline, as long as he refrained from consuming alcohol, he should be fine. Yet, even the author found it difficult to believe that he could restrain himself for so long. Afterall, he was undoubtedly very physically attracted to this green-eyed, brown-haired boy.

He had gotten up and paced back and forth in the room.

Wait. He stopped midstride.

If Misaki had managed to find him last night, that meant that he had managed to navigate the streets of Tokyo, by himself, at night. That meant that he had learned how to pick up a phone-call, learned how to find the address, learned how to call a cab. Akihiko mulled over the prototype's accelerated learning curve. Before long, Misaki would learn how to read, to write, to sing, to dance, to cook, to clean, to navigate the outside world. He would grow up to be like any normal eighteen-year-old.

Perhaps soon enough, Misaki wouldn't need him any more.

The author felt something painful stir in his heart.

The silver-haired author forced himself to abandon those depressing thoughts, and focus more importantly on the current situation. There was a sleeping boy outside his room, a sleeping boys who had memories of last night. Akihiko decided that the best course of action would be to forget about the whole ordeal. Yes, both of them could start fresh. They were merely author and muse, nothing more.

Akihiko hesitantly pushed the door open once again.

There, he was greeted with only a bag of takeout boxes. He stood there, perplexed. He reached down to pick up the bag of takeout, only to hear the sound of pattering footsteps. He looked up to find the brown-haired boy, slightly out of breath, clutching two cans of soda, one on each hand.

"Oh, you saw the takeout boxes? I didn't know what you would like, so I got a bit of everything. But I forgot to get drinks! So there's this black machine, that if you put in strange paper, gives you things to drink!"

The author could only stare at the boy, who was staring, expectantly at him.

Akihiko merely closed the door, and began walking to the elevator. "Come. Let's eat at home."

The boy obediently trotted after him. "Okay! But do you know…"

Akihiko found himself listening to the boy's morning excursion, as he had talked about the nice people he met at the restaurant, as he was ordering food. He responded little, his mind most pre-occupied. Was the boy not affected at all by his first sexual experience? Akihiko's brow furrowed.

Misaki's talkativeness gradually subsided, as he realized that most of his words were greeted with silence. As the two rode the taxi-cab back home, Misaki found the silence between him and the author to be almost deafening. It made him feel uncomfortable. Somehow, he had the feeling that the author disliked him.

Was it because of yesterday?

Misaki couldn't exactly describe the experience he had yesterday. He had experienced many bodily sensations since his activation time, including those with his nose, his mouth, and his fingers. Some of them had been incredibly painful, like the first time he had cut his finger. Other times had been incredibly pleasurable, like his first time tasting chocolate cake. This experience was a mixture of both pain and pleasure.

It was a pleasurable pain and a painful pleasure.

It was one which had never made him crave another human's body so much; it was one which made him yearn for closeness and fulfillment. Yet, that sweet, painful ache was something that he was admittedly be willing to experience again. Yet, contrary to how he had felt, the author had seemed dissatisfied with the experience.

Misaki's eyes widened.

Of course! That entire night had consisted of the author satisfying him. He was so swept up in the author's minstrations, that he had forgotten to reciprocate with some of his own. Misaki inwardly berated himself for his mistake.

Yet, Misaki immediately realized that he had no knowledge on how to give someone else pleasure.

Ever since he had experienced the world, the silver-haired man that sat beside him was Misaki's one source of happiness. The man had let him feel the comfort of being washed clean, had given him the experience of tasting such sweet delicacies, had protected him and forced him to face his fears of dangerous kitchen equipment, had gifted him with clothes to wear and a place to live, and most of all, had satisfied the sweet yearnings that he had within himself.

If anything, he was always giving the author trouble. Misaki recalled the expression of shock on the author's face, when he had accidentally opened all of the author's shampoo and conditioner bottles, and the flicker of pain behind those amethyst eyes when he had mentioned the author's nickname.

"Misaki."

The boy looked up, realizing that they had already arrived outside the author's apartment.

"Eat first. I'm going to do some work this afternoon. Don't bother me until dinner."

Misaki watched the silver-haired author trod, almost wearily, upstairs to his study. The brown-haired boy felt a small tinge of disappointment well within him.

It was all his fault.

He had never once tried to make the author happy.

A wayward glance revealed the cookbook that the author had given him yesterday.

It was here that an idea had begun to form within Misaki's mind.

**Apologies if my writing is a bit rusty! If there's a bit of a disjointedness, I apologize for that as well. **

**Thank you to all readers who still keep up with stories, your reviews mean so much to me. **


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